


Recalibrated

by Feral_Fic_Writer



Series: Feral's Bitch Rescue [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bestiality, Castration, Dark John, Dark Sam, Dean Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dehumanization, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Parent/Child Incest, Past Abuse, Puppy Play?, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rehumanization, Sibling Incest, Stockholm Syndrome, mentions of amputation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-04-09 07:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 62,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4338779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feral_Fic_Writer/pseuds/Feral_Fic_Writer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In response to reader WaywardWhedonite, this is a rescue fic inspired by aspenspark (tempusborealis') "A Fine Caliber"</p><p>Warning, this fic gets worse before it gets better. </p><p>Just when Sam and John's reluctant bitch thought there was nothing more they could do to break him, Dean found out, once again, just how horribly wrong he could be.<br/>or<br/>Sam was sixteen when he spelled Dean into his first real heat.<br/>or<br/>Castiel is a reclusive rancher with a troubled past. His experience with people has left him preferring the company of his animals. Dean is a badly abused boy who's spent the last two years of his life being treated like a dog (literally). When fate bring the two together, is there the possibility of healing for them... and beyond healing, maybe even something more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dog Fight

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Fine Caliber](https://archiveofourown.org/works/948804) by [aspenspark (tempusborealis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempusborealis/pseuds/aspenspark). 



Sam was sixteen when he spelled Dean into his first heat.

The breeding bench shuddered, creaking under the force of the Pitbull stud pounding into the captive bitch beneath him. Were it not for the bolts dropped into the empty swimming pool’s concrete floor, the power of the Pit’s thrusts would have splintered the bench shortly after he’d mounted.

While the bench held firm, the bitch he was breeding had broken apart long before he’d climbed atop it.

Slobber hung in long strings from the gagged jaw. Green eyes, once bright with fearful need at the first stud, now, here at the fifth of the night’s winners, had been vacant of anything remotely human for some time. Pitching between anguish and lust, bitch only present, Dean whined through his fucked-out throat, taking each jolt, pushing back into them as much as his captured hips and bound legs allowed.

High on the blood and the pain of the preceding dogfights, the men perched along the pool’s edges cheered as the stud suddenly gave a muffled roar and threw himself harder into the body held between his muscle-bound forelimbs. Dean moaned brokenly, shuddering through another painful dry orgasm.

Never had the dogs fought as hard as they had tonight and never had the celebratory “bitching” been so feral. The air around the makeshift arena crackled with an electricity that made the animals frenzied.

Not as many guys had used Dean's mouth as normally did at one of the bitch's breedings. Although a few men had shown their balls over the course of the evening, shoving their cocks into his ring-gagged face, while the one of the fight’s survivors bucked against his ass. It wasn’t an act for the faint of heart. Even with their leather-bound muzzles, the way the Pits slavered and growled, each stud made it clear that outside fucking their prize, the only thing he’d like more was to make quick eunuchs out of his human rivals.

There was no one fucking Dean’s throat now though: the best fight had been saved for last and this Bull was a stone-cold killer. Without the muzzle cinching his jaws, the bitch under him would have been bloody as the surrounding floor.

Sam kept a good distance between himself and the breeding pair as he filmed Dean taking the dog’s furious cock.

“Make sure you get that knot, Sammy!” John called from the side of the pool where he stood, hand occasionally grabbing at his too-tight crotch.

“Got, it!”

Sam had been filming Dean’s breedings for almost two years now. He knew what he was doing.

He already had enough footage to see their site through the next month, at least. But still, he understood why his dad didn’t want him to miss a moment. The dog ramming their pup was a demon for fucking, pissed off at its own growing knot even, snarling at the fact it would soon bring a stop to his rabid thrusting.

Dean’s lean sides heaved from the Pit's weight and his own exhaustion. Slick with slobber and human and dog semen, his torso was also painted red with racing stripes from hard digging claws.

At the smell of the blood it was drawing, the spend of other dogs and their owners, a new swell of rage roared up in the stud. It slammed its muzzled snout into the back of Dean’s neck with enough force that if the bench hadn’t been supporting it, the bitch’s neck could have very well been broken.

“Hot Damn, look at my boy!" the Pit’s owner crowed. "Plough that bitch’s ass!” He slid from the side of the pool, moving in for a closer look and getting into Sam’s shot.

Sam knew better to say anything though. As he and his dad had sought out more and more vigorous breedings for their bitch, they’d found themselves amongst increasingly rough crowds. They'd encountered human monsters that would give even the most seasoned hunters pause.

Besides, since posting Dean’s first video, he’d become an excellent editor.

He turned his focus back to the camera, captivated by the massive knot now forcing its way into Dean’s spasming bitch-hole. The Pit howled and refused to stop thrusting even after his knot caught. Sam watched with growing concern.

The last thing they needed was for their pup to prolapse again. Like Dean had when John had decided on that breeding session with a miniature horse. The man had been so determined for an equine mounting, even after he'd found out mating Dean to a normal one could likely have killed him.

Tension replaced Sam's arousal as Dean’s battered cunt was repeatedly tested. The knot bulged obscenely with each pull against the bitch’s bruised rim. At the same time, Sam’s belly simultaneously twisted with excitement: the tenacity of this stud was just what he’d hoped for. Actually, all the studs that had taken their bitch tonight were serious brutes.

Everything was perfect. He’d made sure to give Dean the last dose that morning so he would be ripe. Given both Dean and his studs’ responses, the potion had obviously worked like...

Well… Like magic.

It worried Sam a little he hadn’t actually cleared what he’d done to their pup with his dad yet. Still, he was confident that once he spelled it all out, the old man would be all for it. Considering all the things they’d done to Dean already, this last one should hardly raise an eyebrow.

Looking back at the camera’s screen, Sam saw the dog had finally settled in. The Pit refused to turn, however, holding Dean tight, squeezing his bitch’s sides in an iron grip as he pumped load after growling load into him.

When the dog finally released and was pulled away by his owner, John was there in an instant to slide the huge tail plug into Dean’s purpled hole. After stoppering up the come of five champs inside him, he set to freeing their bitch from its restraints. Once loose, Dean slid bonelessly to the concrete, without even a whimper. His hips kept pumping like he was still being rutted.

“Look at that! Took five of those fucker’s and she’s still hungry for more! Amazing!”

Show over, men clamored around, offering other praises and congratulations to Sam and John on their bitch’s performance. While he packed the camera equipment back into its bag, Sam accepted this, along with a dozen cards containing the e-mail addresses of new subscribers for Dean’s site, guys wanting access to the video footage. Then the pool cleared as Pit handlers pulled the winners out to sew ‘em up, scrub them down, and load them up to go home.  A hole had been dug in the yard of the abandoned YMCA earlier for the night’s losers.

The revelers broke up into small groups to settle bets and smoke.

John picked their bitch up, fucked out and all but unconscious, and carried Dean into the pool’s dingy showers. Someone had turned the water main on for the night’s event. A few handlers were there with their dogs, rinsing them down, holding thick collars back with even thicker arms as their wounded warriors strained, even now, to tear each other apart. The minute Dean arrived though, they started straining towards him.

Dean whimpered and his hips flexed the minute he was set on the floor.

“Easy, girl. Settle down.”

John ignored the men and their dogs. He stripped, getting ready to wash his tuckered bitch down.  No reason to dirty the Impala. But before he lugged Dean into the showers, he made quick work of his erection, stroking himself off, adding his own milky stripes to ones that adorned their bitch already.

Sam watched his father come. He planned to wait until they got back to the bunker so he could fuck Dean and not his hand. He’d do it while he watched the uncut video; liked it better that way. Besides, he’d fucked Dean twice before the show: found by doing this, not only did it help Dean prepare, but then he could actually concentrate on shooting the video when their bitch was being bred.

Once he’d shot his load, John finished removing Dean’s gear, everything but the plug. By this time the other owners and their dogs had left. He and Sam had the shower to themselves.

“Hey, Sam. What did I tell you about keeping an eye on Dean’s paws?”

John held one of Dean’s atrophied hands up by its wrist. Thin fingers curled into the palms, the skin was white and sloughing off in places. This was normal, but what worried John was the base of both Dean’s palms. They were puffy and red. Too-long fingernails, the ones that hadn’t fallen off, had punctured the skin when Dean strained with his breedings.

“I have been, but they keep getting worse. I told you we should dock them.”

Sam tried not to sound smug. He’d suggested months ago that they put John’s Marine training into practice again and take each finger down to just the first knuckle. That way they wouldn’t even have to use the mitts anymore. Not that they really needed to now. They mostly kept it up for looks: living in the mittens almost 24/7 had rendered Dean’s hands useless within his first year as a bitch .

“I’ll think about that.” John let Dean’s hand drop back down to the tile. Dean gave another soft whimper. Whether it was because he’d roused enough to hear the conversation or because his fingers ached without the compression of the mitts, John couldn’t ascertain. Not that it mattered.

“I suppose I could do that once we got back. If it goes well, maybe I’ll do Adam's paws too. Save some trouble in the long run. Wonder how's he doing all alone at the bunker. I bet the pup's missing us.”

“Hey, Winchester!”

Both Sam and John looked up when Ray Jackson, coordinator of the night’s festivities, called out.

“Hey, Ray!” John stood up with a grin on his face. It grew as he peeked into the envelope Ray handed over.

“Nice.”

Jackson smiled himself and nodded. “The guys loved the show. Dean was even hotter than before. What’d you give her?”

John’s face darkened. “What the hell are you saying? I never drug Dean. Our bitch is all natural. Perfect!” He was so focused on Jackson he didn’t notice Sam color and squirm a little beside him.

“Ever think about breaking in another bitch, John?” Jackson stuck his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Cause that envelope I just gave you could be a whole hell of a lot fatter.”

John passed the envelope over to Sam. No one else knew about Adam, and wouldn't until he was perfected, like Dean had been. That Jackson asked the question he did, made him suspicious. Got his guard up.

The fact that he was standing bare-assed naked in front of the man, not phasing him in the least, John crossed his arms over his hairy chest and his brow furrowed.

“What exactly are you getting at, Jackson?”

The man offered a nervous smile. “You know Tan Richards was here tonight. He liked what he saw. Liked Dean a _whoooole_ lot, if you know what I mean.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it over to John. “He’d like to buy her from you.”

“Dean’s not for sale!”

 John and Jackson looked over at Sam, both surprised by his outburst. Sam had caught the way his dad’s eyes widened when he opened the paper up. He didn’t blame him, the figure he'd saw was a shitload of money.

“Well, since you two share Dean, I guess I best let you talk it over.” Jackson shot Sam a condescending smile, before shifting over to give a knowing one to his father.

“But, John, a word of advice… You’ve been running your bitch for a while now and you can’t think that even with tonight’s show she’s going to be able to keep people’s attention forever.

“Not to mention, Tan’s the biggest fight coordinator for three states. And you know as well as I do that’s the least of his ventures.” Jackson’s eyes slipped back over to Sam. “He’s a guy who knows what he wants and will get it one way or another. So you think about that.”

He clapped an insincere hand on one of Sam’s tense shoulders. “Just a bit of friendly advice, one dog lover to another.” Jackson nodded down to Dean. “Oh, and give the bitch a biscuit for me when she comes round. She really outdid herself tonight.

John and Sam watched Jackson leave. As soon as he was gone, John turned the water on and grabbed Dean under his arms, dragging him across the tiles and under the cold water.

The bitch sputtered and huffed when the frigid spray hit his raw-rubbed skin, but stayed still otherwise, allowing John to run rough hands over him, swiping away the worst of the grime.

“You wouldn’t really consider selling Dean. Would you, Dad?”

Sam stood just outside the reach of the spray. John hesitated a minute before looking up, and that was all the answer Sam needed.

“How could you do that? Dean’s my… your…”

“She’s our _bitch,_ Sammy.” John cut his son off before he said something uncomfortable. “Jackson’s right. You said so yourself the other day, hits are down on the site, subscriptions are lagging.”

Sam pulled the new slips from his pocket offering evidence for his next words. “Yeah, but look at all the accounts we got tonight. Everyone said Dean’s performance was stellar.”

John snorted at his son’s overlarge vocabulary. “Tonight. But you know as well as I do, Sam, she’s getting worn out. Even with your editing, the last three shows couldn’t hide how rough she’s looking these days, despite all the care we give her. Besides, we’ve got Adam now.”

“But Adam’s your pup. And you said Dean was mine!”

“We share Dean, Sam. We can share Adam too.” John turned off the water and pulled their soaking bitch and himself out of the shower. “Not enough room for two in the trunk anyways.”

Sam’s face had gone pale but was now turning bright red as his anger mounted. True, Dean was a little worse for wear these days. So he didn’t do much but lay around outside of breedings and his hole was so sloppy they had to use the biggest tail plug they could find. Still, it was the money that Dean had made them with his videos that had bought the bunker, funded most of their hunts now, and that paid for all the online courses Sam was taking since he had gotten his GED.  Turning him out after all that, just because his dad was enamored with his new puppy, didn't seem right.

Dean deserved more than that. Sam was suddenly glad he’d done what he had without his dad knowing.

“Pass me a towel from the duffle, Sam. And pull out some fresh mitts and her leg straps. We’ll leave off the muzzle, 'case she pukes. You know how she tends to hack if all the seed she’s swallowed doesn’t sit just right.”

Sam watched John towel himself off first and then use the damp cloth to rub their bitch down. He drew a deep breath.

“You can’t sell Dean, Dad.”

John looked up, dark eyes flashing. Making Dean their bitch, bringing Sam in on it, had kept things peaceable between them. But Sam had begun getting more attitude lately and he didn’t care for it at all.

“Watch your tone, Son.” John’s voice was a growl. Beneath him, the sound of it made Dean whimper. “Easy now, girl.” He reached down and ruffed the wet head at his feet. “I have the final say here. I gave Dean to you, but I have no problem taking her…”

When Sam interrupted him, John stopped in his tracks . He shook his head, sure he heard wrong. “What did you say?”

Sam dropped his eyes to the ground, but just for a second, before looking back up and meeting his father’s gaze, unblinking.

“You can’t sell Dean... because... because I bred her.”

"We breed her all the time. What the hell are you talking about?

No, I mean really bred her...You know...the studs tonight...Puppies.

John stepped over to his discarded clothes and picked up his belt. “You better explain yourself, Sam Winchester. And fast.”

Sam squared his shoulders. He knew his dad was stronger, but he was taller than him now and thought he could probably hold his own.

“Look… When we first started showing Dean, what did you tell her that first night?”  Knowing he didn’t have long before his father lost his patience, Sam pushed on quickly.“You said that people would want her so much that they’d be sorry she couldn’t actually breed pups. But what if I told you I found a spell that made that possible.”

John's face hadn’t lost its anger but the hand holding his belt released its grip just a little. “You know how I feel about that spell shit, Sam.”

“Yeah, but what if Dean could pup? Dogs smart as humans could save hunters’ lives. And human pups, born "bald dogs" they call em, with a dog’s innocence and loyalty… Think about how much people would pay for a pet like that.”

The belt went down and John began pulling his shirt on. Sam moved over to Dean with a fresh towel and made sure his paws were good and dry before slipping on new mitts despite, the bitch’s pained whines.

“That’s what she’d have?” John was curious now. “You sure it’ll be split like that?”

"That's what all my research said would happen," Sam nodded. “You can show Adam when he’s ready, just like you started with Dean. Take him hunting with you. I can stay at the bunker with Dean until she pups. Then we can take her out for a private show get her knocked up again. It’s wins all around.”

As he slipped back into his jeans John's face was thoughtful.

“Just think,” Sam whispered, running his hand gently over Dean’s quivering flank before fastening the humbler's straps. “Those dogs tonight… Such amazing fighters, all the way to the death. I bet trained right, their pups might even give a hell hound a run for its money.”

John eyed their bitch. Dean had curled up into himself and had started sobbing. It had been a long time, since the bitch had made that kind of fuss.

Last time was when Sammy had been playing with Dean and kissed the pup on the lips. Course John had put a stop to that right quick. Fucking a bitch was one thing, but kissing a dog’s mouth was just disgusting. Especially considering all the things that had been in Dean's.

Shifting his eyes to his son, John shook his head. Sometimes Sam was too smart for his own good. But if what he said was true; if Dean could breed puppies just like a real bitch... And their pup _had_ caught tonight.

“I’m not happy with what you did Samuel. Going behind my back. Using magic. But I’ll give you credit. If it works, we might just have something really special with our little bitch here.” He frowned a bit at Sam’s relieved smile.

“Okay, we’ll hold on to Dean, see if what you did took. But no more secrets and NO spells without me knowing. I want everything out in the open now.”

“Yes, Sir!”

John nodded, pleased that the peace had been restored between them. If this worked, he might even breed Addy after a while. His new bitch wasn’t as pretty as Dean had been, but …

“Hey Sam, put Dean’s gag in. I know what I said about her puking, but can’t stand to listen to her go on howling like that.”

He watched Sam pull out the muzzle and slide the gag between Dean’s gasping lips.“Hush, Dean. You're going look so beautiful all round with pups. I just know you're gonna' be a good mama too.”

Sam ran his hand down his shivering bitch's back before he looked up at John, hazel eyes bright and hopeful. “I read pregnant bitches get more emotional. Do you think it could be her hormones going off already?”

“Maybe. That would be something, huh?'” John laughed.

 


	2. Chances

Sam held their blanket-wrapped bitch in his arms, waiting for his dad to open the trunk. Being big enough to carry Dean on his own was still novel enough to be pleasing. After his little "bitch-fit," Dean had quieted. Of course the muzzle helped, but it wasn’t just the noise: outside the occasional tremor, their pup had slipped into a state just shy of catatonic.

Once Sam lowered and tucked their stilled bitch into his nest in the trunk, John packed in the duffle with the pup’s “event accessories” around Dean, as well as the video equipment. Hearing the crunch of gravel behind them, both quickly turned. The man Jackson had mentioned, Tan Richards, stood a respectable distance away, flanked by three men, obviously his muscle.

“Beautiful bitch you got there, Winchesters. That was quite a show she put on. I heard she’s taken up to twenty at a go. Remarkable.”

Sam remained silent, arms crossed over his chest, mentally calculating where and what weapons were most accessible. He had no doubt his dad had already gone through this same rundown. John, however, was playing things cool, though nowhere near friendly. He merely offered Richards a nod of acknowledgement.

If it offended the man, Richards didn’t show it.

“I also heard from Jackson, you aren’t eager to sell her. I understand of course. I’ll up my offer by ten percent. A treasure like that doesn’t come without cost.” The way Tan’s grin twisted, the underlying threat in his words was immediately obvious.

John could be pleasant when he wanted to be, it was a necessary skill in hunting if one was to get people to give out information. He turned this charm on now. “I know who you are, Mr. Richards and I appreciate the offer. Tell you what… I have some things planned for Dean, established commitments. But give me your contact info and, in a month or so, I’ll call you and we can revisit your interest.”

These unexpected words rattled Sam and he shot a hard look at his father, trying to figure out if he was just trying to buy time or if he actually meant it. Whatever the reason for what John said, it seemed to work. Richards nodded his head thoughtfully, appeared to accept this proposal as earnest.

He stepped forward and with a wave that put his men into a halt, closed the remaining feet between himself and John without his entourage. He reached in to pocket of the crisp western shirt he wore and pulled out a business card. John took the card wordlessly and after looking it over, tucked it into his own breast pocket.

Richards was close enough now that he could see into the trunk. His eyes roved hungrily over Dean’s curled form. The boy lay there, eyes closed, breathing shallow and quick.

“Hope that the events you have lined up aren’t too trying for her. Your girl looks pretty tuckered out.” Richards’ eyes shifted back to the bitch’s owners. His gaze now cool as it flickered between Sam and John. “Prize like that should be traveling in a limo, on pillows, not stuffed in the back of a trunk.”

Sam started forward, protest rumbling in his broadening chest, but John caught him with a large hand, effectively stopping him. The sounds of Richards' protection shuffling uncomfortably behind him filled the air, but without their boss' signal they held themselves in check, eventually stilling again.

One of Richard’s dark brows quirked upwards at Sam’s response, but other than this, he himself had remained unmoved, his expression impassive. “I mean no offense, Son. I’m sure you’re doing the best you can for her. I’m just saying I can do better. And if you really care for your bitch's well-being, then you might want to consider that.” Again there was the unspoken threat in his words.

“You keep that card, and think seriously on giving me a call.” Richards shifted his gaze back over to John. He waited until John gave him a nod.

“Yeah, we’ll do that.”

“Good to hear.”

With that the man turned and made his way back towards his crew, his stride ambling and easy.

When Richards and his posse were out of sight, Sam immediately jumped in. “You said…”

“Enough, Sam! I know what I said.” John took the Impala’s keys out of his pocket and headed up towards the front of the car. “I told you. We’ll see how Dean does. But you’re not going to get the chance to find out if your spell worked if the three of us don’t make it out of Lincoln alive.”

This was as much of a conversation as John planned to have at the moment and his expression indicated this clearly.

“You double check Dean and the equipment. And be sure when you close the trunk that it catches. The latch has been sticky lately.

"It's a long stretch from Nebraska to Kansas and I don’t want to go over a bump and find out later we lost Dean somewhere between here and Lebanon. Got it.”

Sam nodded unhappily and watched his father slip inside the car. After doing as ordered, Sam joined him. As they left town, both their eyes continued to dart to the rearview mirror for some time, making sure that Richards and his cronies hadn’t decided to tail them. But it seemed clear.

John's gut however wasn't buying it. He doubted someone like Richards would be so agreeable. He had a sinking suspicion that this reprieve, if this was what their leaving unmolested was, would not be very long lived. Keeping Dean in the bunker under lock and key for a while, bred or not, was starting to seem more and more appealing.

* * *

 

They got out of Lincoln with no problem, by the time they hit Frontier, Sam’s stomach was growling louder than the Impala’s engine. In the silence that had reigned between him and his dad, it was impossible to ignore.

When the next roadhouse appeared on the rural route he'd taken, John pulled off.

 _Open 24/7,_ glowed in neon, along with the logos of about a dozen beer brands. A sign in the window advertised a three-pound steak, free if you could eat it all at one go.

Even if it looked like the kind of place that didn’t know such a thing as salad existed, Sam was grateful.

“Let’s fuel ourselves up here. We’ll get a burger or something to go for Dean too. Then you can drive for a while.

"I’d like to get back to the bunker as soon as possible. We need to get our bitch cleaned up good and settled. And even though I’m sure Adam's doing fine, I want to get back and check on him.”

Despite the late hour the place was packed. Saturday night left the lot littered with trucks and about a dozen cycle’s lazed about their graveled pasture like fat cattle. John pulled around to back lot, making sure that it was a pull through, not wanting to find themselves cornered if they had to leave in a pinch.

After years of hunting, this sort of tactical thinking came to him now as natural as breathing. They could park here and the Impala wouldn’t be visible from the road. The back lot held only a couple cars. A truck fixed with a livestock trailer had pulled in horizontal and took up several spaces, but there were still plenty open. John was pleased to see a rear entrance to the roadhouse.

He emerged from the car and stretched.

Sam pulled his lanky limbs out. “I’m going to check on Dean.” He caught the keys his father tossed him.

John gave him a smirk that let Sam know he thought it was cute how he was fussing over Dean now that he might be bred. Sam ducked his head, heat filling his cheeks.

“Make sure to lock everything up and don’t forget about the trunk.”

“Got it.”

Dean blinked when the lid of the trunk rose. Even though it was dark outside the lot glowed dimly with a few scattered floods.

"Glad to see you're back with us, Girl. You checked out there for a bit, again."

Sam's voice was pleased. Dean knew he didn't like it when he was inattentive. He closed his eyes and tried not to wince when Sam reached in for him. Long fingers fumbled the straps on his muzzle and his jaw creaked as Sam removed it.

“You hush and be good now, Dean.” Sam pulled a bottle of water from their supplies and grinned, watching Dean go after it greedily. He didn’t let him have the whole thing though, because he knew it would make the pup have to piss. He hadn't bothered to sound him after the breeding and he didn’t want a mess in the trunk.

Dean was burning up inside. He had been ever since they'd pulled him into the building where the fights were being held and he'd smelled the strong scent of stud. His throat felt so dry it seemed to crackle with each breath. Even with what Sam gave him, he was still so thirsty. He whimpered miserably when the bottle was pulled away, but knew enough to stay still as Sam used a corner of one of his blankets to wipe what had spilled down his chin. Then Sam rubbed the damp fabric over his cry swollen eyes next. The action pulled a soft sob from him.

“Quiet, Pup.” The bit of Dean’s muzzle was pushed back between chapped lips, straps of at the back of the blond head pulled tight again. "Such an emotional bitch tonight... Well, of course, it's not every day one becomes a mama. That's a chick-flick moment if ever there was one. But, I guess I won't tease you about it too much."

Sam ran long fingers over close cropped hair. “You rest, Girl and we’ll be home before you know it. And I'll be sure to take good care of you once we get there.”

Knowing what Sam's "care" usually entailed, a shudder wracked Dean’s lean frame at this promise.

“And don’t you worry, Dean. I’m not going to let Dad sell you. Not that he'll want to after you show him what a true bitch you are. Besides, once we get back he’ll get too busy with his new pup to think about much else besides training and hunting."

The hand left and pulled the blankets up around Dean’s shoulders. “I really do hope you caught. Though I'll miss seeing you get bred. Maybe I can ask dad to get another dog just for around the bunker, to take care of you. A mastiff would be good protection, and you'd like that knot, I'm sure. I bet once you really get those bitch hormones going, you're going to be an even hornier little cock-slut than you are right now.

"Though I don't know if I'll be able to bear sharing you when you're all full and ripe... Belly so big you can't hardly move. I can tell already I'm gonna want my cock in your sweet, mama bitch-cunt every minute.  Can't wait to see what'll happen to those tiny titties of your's too, once the milk comes in. Maybe you'll even grow some extra ones. Wouldn't that be cool?

"Just think, Dean… As long as I keep you filled up with puppies, you and me can live in the bunker. Dad can take Adam out on the road.

“It’ll be just the two of us and all the pups… One big happy family, just like it should be... Should have been a long time ago.”

Sam stepped back and lowered the lid to the trunk. “I’ll bring you back a burger. Maybe even a piece of pie. Though don’t go expecting treats like this all the time, just cause you're knocked up. Pie's not for dogs. Once we get back to the bunker, I’m going to put you on a special diet to make sure that you’ll have the fattest, healthiest babies a bitch ever had.”

There was a happy smile on Sam’s face as he lowered the lid to the trunk and twisted the key in the lock. He was so lost in his fantasy he almost forgot his dad’s admonition. A frown flickered over his face for a split second when he realized he couldn’t remember hearing the latch catch. Not wanting to slam it with Dean inside, no doubt glowing over all the wonderful prospects he'd just laid out to him, Sam set his hands on the lid and pressed. It felt solid.

Good enough.

He kept his smile with him as he wandered into the roadhouse to find his dad.

On the other side of the Impala’s sleek hide, Dean lay on his back, his mittened palms pressed against steel. Sam wasn't the only one who'd heard John's caution about the trunk's latch. 

After the sounds of big feet crunching gravel and the “thunk” of a solid door passed, the lot was left with only the soft song of the year's first crickets to fill it.

Heart thundering inside his chest harder than even the first time his dad and brother had bitched him, Dean pressed his curled hands lightly upwards. A thin band of light suddenly burned bright in the darkness that had held him for so long. His muzzled face was kissed by the sweet breath of the early spring evening. A cool breeze slipped in and caressed his soiled skin, beckoning.

Dean pulled his useless hands backwards trying to still the tremors that had seized them. The glow slipped away to just a mere slit. Tears filled his eyes; his breathing was harsh and ragged.

Part of his mind was screaming at him to bolt, no matter what waited for him in the parking lot. Another part was howling for him to be still, 'cause fuck knew what kind of punishment he'd suffer if he got caught. Plus, he was supposed to be a good bitch.

Even with all the filthy, horrible things Sam had just told him, and the thought of the rest of his miserable life playing out trapped in an even worse kind of living hell than what he presently occupied; caught up in this war within his mind Dean found himself frozen.

For the first time in two years he had a chance to get out.

He just didn’t know if he had the strength or the courage left now to take it.


	3. Escape?

While only a minute had passed, it felt like an hour to Dean and he was acutely aware that every second ticking by brought him closer his keepers' return.

The hunter parts of John and Sam had been fastidious in their security until tonight. And sure, he’d fantasized about escape. He'd even made a few terrible, failed flights back in the beginning, before he’d become a completely fucked out mess, worthless as anything but a come dump for the ones that kept him and the dogs they lined up.

Now, however, Dean had no idea what he’d even do if he got away. In fact, for about the last year he’d more or less stopped thinking about any other kind of existence: it hurt too much. Instead, he’d retreated within himself, submitted because it was easier, was the only way. He’d just taken whatever he’d been given, cause that's what John said bitches did. And that’s what he’d become… A bitch.

Not just a bitch, but a broken one.

Or so he’d thought, until tonight.

His mind churned with what waited for him when they got him back to the bunker if Sam’s spell had worked. If it was possible and he really had been…

_Bred for real..._

Dean’s throat tightened remembering the strange juice Sam poured down him that morning. He’d been making him drink it a few weeks now. It had sure as hell done something to him: he only had to think the word “bred” and his ass clenched around his tail plug. Dean found himself pushing back into it, trying to ease the burning ache, the need that itched inside him.

 _Rutting back like the little slut-bitch you are._ His hips stilled as he heard his father’s voice in his head.

Two years he’d been a bitch, but before that he’d been a soldier in John’s private war: from four to eighteen. Fourteen years against his two as their dog slut should count for something. Right?

He'd been a good soldier too. And when his father had counted him human, he’d taught him to never give up, never give in, fight until the end. Course, if Dean was honest, maybe his bitch years overlapped some, since John also taught him at the tender age of ten that a good soldier took it in the ass without making a sound.

_And look how far you’ve come now._

_And where you’re headed from here, bitch boy._

The image of himself fingerless, gut hanging down with sloppy tits like a milk cow, played out behind Dean’s closed lids. Sam grunting behind him, gasping out filthy praises as he fucked into him. 

These thoughts made him sick but there was anger underneath this too. He couldn't let them do that to him, not without a fight. So, just maybe, there was some unspoiled bit of soldier left in him still.

He had to find out. Putting his hands back up to the trunk lid, he pushed upwards as he shoved the hellish vision of his future out of his head. 

Peering out into the lot through the opening he saw it was empty of people, just three parked cars and a truck with a trailer. If he could get into one of those cars, maybe he could duck down in the back seat unnoticed. At least get in and lock the doors, so that if Sam and John came out, they’d have to make a scene to get him out.

His heart pounding so loud in his ears, he couldn’t hear anything else; Dean slowly pushed the trunk lid up higher until he could sit. Every muscle in his body was stiff, his chest so tight with tension it felt like his ribs might crack.

He hovered there on the edge of the trunk for a few more hesitant seconds before he could will himself to move. The few feet from where he sat to the ground below looked more like a drop into the Grand Canyon. Dean drew a deep breath and leaned forward, tumbling out.

The sound of the metal links on his bindings rattling; the rasp of the lead chain attached to his collar sliding against the Impala's steel; the “thump” of impact when his body hit the ground, all these crashed like mortar shots in his panicked ears.

His limbs froze up again as he pressed himself close to the ground. Eyes squeezed tight, he waited for Sam and John to come bursting out the back door of the restaurant and throw him back into the trunk. Take him off to a shitty hotel to beat him, fuck him with the wide end of a baseball bat for his disobedience… It had happened before.

But this time...

Nothing.

The crickets resumed their song. Dean could now hear the muffled sounds of music too, as a band started playing within the bar. The song was one he knew: a favorite of his mother’s. He remembered her humming it as she moved around the kitchen cooking.

It had to be a sign.

_Please…_

Dean dared to open his eyes. He blinked through the blur and realized his was crying. _Again._

For some reason this just made it worse, but the hitch in his chest got him moving again. It pulled at all of his sore muscles to stretch himself high enough, straining his humbler’s straps to their limit, to pull the trunk lid down. He got it to latch before his shaking legs went out from under him.

Closing the hatch might buy him a few valuable seconds if Sam and John came out; even longer if they got into the car and started driving without checking on him.

Unable to walk with his legs strapped, he started at a ragged crawl across the gravel to get to the first car, parked not too far from the Impala.

The mitts made it hard to work the door handles and it took him a minute to realize that the car was locked up, completely. A shuddering gasp wracked his lean frame; Dean gritted his teeth, clamping down hard on the rubber bit between them.

Green eyes shot across the lot to the two other cars parked near the livestock trailer. Though it was only about a distance of twelve feet, it looked a football field’s distance. Dean was exhausted, the moving he'd done already had stirred up all his aches even more like the shaking of a wasps’ nest.

_Soldier or bitch?_

Dean tried not to whimper as the gravel cut into his already damaged knees. He pushed himself over tiny, sharp stones until he reached the side of the truck. He pressed his bare shoulder against the passenger door, the cool metal grounding him.

Then suddenly the door shuddered and Dean tumbled forward, panicked. Above him a dog barked. Dean felt both the fire inside him and his terror both flare as the dog glared down at its perceived intruder. The Border Collie stared for just a minute, sizing Dean up, before it jerked into action, scrabbling it paws against the window, barking furiously.

That set off a canine cacophony of upset, and Dean realized, glancing up, that the bed of the truck was like the ones used by animal control, divided into separate closed kennels. If it hadn’t been for the gag in his mouth, he would have screamed.

New heat shot through his pelvis and he could feel the plug in his ass twist as his hole oozed with something slick.

He toppled backwards, bare ass on the ground, a low groan escaping him at how this jarred his aching body and how it pushed the tail plug deeper into him. His terror of the dogs, despite what his flesh called out for, spurred him on. He crab-walked away from the truck bed down towards the end of the trailer.

In his haste, his foot came down on a broken beer bottle; it sliced deeply into his heel. He reached forward and batted the bottle away but some of the shards stayed lodged. Clasping his heel in his mittened hands, Dean knew immediately from how the leather slid over flesh he was bleeding good.

He set his foot back down on the ground and a burst of pain flowered in his foot. New tears flooded his eyes. At the same time he was seized with the urge to cackle: the universe fucking hated him so much he couldn’t even catch a break now?

_Really?_

It was all he could do, not to just curl up right there in the gravel and give in. The urge died in him instantly when he heard the creak of the backdoor’s hinges. His bladder emptied itself right there. Dean was still pissing out his fear as he flipped back over onto his knees and drug himself into the shadow of the trailer.

Within the trailer, animals shifted. Dean heard the low bleating of sheep. The dog smell from the Pits was still strong on him, despite John’s shower and they pressed themselves away from his scent, crowding to the back of their enclosure.

From his small cover of darkness, Dean’s eyes widened when he saw two women exit the roadhouse. They must have been three or four years older than him, mid-twenties, and pretty. They were leaning against each other, giggling, obviously tipsy.  

Each girl was pulling keys from her purse as they chatted, they stopped in the middle of the lot on their their way over to the two remaining cars to finish their conversation.

Dean had felt a lot of shame in the past two years but the idea of revealing himself to these girls as he was, naked, battered, raped and still filled with an ass full of dog come, devastated him. They couldn’t see him like this.

_No one should… You stupid little cunt… Not fit for any kind of proper company…You’re the property of John Winchester, don’t you dare forget it. Better yet, I’ll make sure you remember._

The voice of the man he’d once called "father" filled Dean’s head. The words the same as those John had spat at him in the last argument they’d had before the mitts had gone on.

Dean’s head dropped, the heavy collar he wore cutting into his chin.

What he’d tried to do... to get away… was stupid. He’d never be able to be around normal people now. He couldn’t imagine anyone who wasn’t twisted like Sam or John looking at him with anything but disgust or pity. He glanced over at the woods beyond the lot another dozen feet from him. Dying of exposure in the brush was looking like the best possible fate at the moment but right now he couldn’t get to the foliage without notice.

The dog in the truck barked again. Dean watched one of the girls glance up. The other one dropped her keys and went down on her ass when she bent to retrieve them. Her friend laughed and helped her up.

Shit, if they got any closer to their cars, they’d be bound to see him.

Without even thinking about what he was doing, he reached up and pushed the trailer door catch with one of his palms. The door creaked lightly. He pawed it open just wide enough to slip in, holding his lead chain tight to him as best he could without fingers.

There was a similar catch on the inside of the trailer door, Dean slid it shut. Barely conscious of the straw beneath his trembling limbs, the surrounding scents of manure and alfalfa and wool. The sheep milled and bleated in distress behind him.

Peering through the slats of the door, Dean watched the women reach their cars. He drew back slightly as the rustling animals in the trailer caught their attention. Thankfully, they didn’t hold it for more than a few agonizing seconds.

The girls turned back to each other and hugged, then they made as if they were going to leave, each in her own car but before this happened, they looked over to the door of the roadhouse as it opened once more. A good looking guy stepped out and one of the girls whispered something to the other that got them giggling again.

Dean sank down and pressed his forehead to the chilled metal door. He didn’t know how much more he could take. He was sick with tension, completely wrung out and hating himself for suddenly wishing he was still in his nest in the trunk.

Castiel stepped out of the roadhouse, greasy paper bag clutched in one hand, a glass-bottled coke in the other.

His eyes caught sight of the two ladies over by their cars. He saw their appraising stares and, as he headed over to his truck, offered a polite tip of his head but no smile.. They weren’t his type…

Not by a long shot.

And even if they had been, he had a twelve hour drive ahead of him and wanted to get his new stock back to the ranch as soon as possible. The faster the trip, the less stress the sheep would have to endure.

Opening one of the kennels in the back of his truck, Castiel set his coke down and opened the bag. He pulled out three burgers and broke them up into pieces. His dogs had done him proud at the sheep trials and earned themselves a treat.

Blue eyes gazed into the empty kennel. It was one of two now unoccupied, since he’d dropped the other dogs off at their new home.

It was always hard for him to let his pups go, but this had been a good match and he’d gotten enough from the sale of them to cover the dozen sheep he’d bought. So, all in all, the trip to Nebraska had been worth it.

He couldn’t wait to get back to Colorado though. It crossed his mind briefly to call Benny and see how things were going, but he dropped this quickly. It was late and he knew his manager would tease him mercilessly for being such a “worried mama” about a bunch of sheep. No matter that Benny was just as conscientious.

One by one, Castiel opened the kennels and gave each dog inside its burger. He also checked their water and gave them a pat, promising the next stop they made they’d have the chance to get out and stretch their legs a bit, though most were still so tuckered from the excitement of the trials they didn’t complain too much.

Once his trial dogs had been seen to, Castiel took out the last burger for Ace. He expected the old border collie to dive into it, but instead, the second he opened the door of the truck, Ace leapt out and ran to the back of the trailer barking.

“Hey now!”  

Ace didn’t act like he’d heard him and began scratching at the back of the trailer. A frown slipped over Castiel's features: the border collie was usually hyper-attentive to him.

When he ambled around to catch Ace’s collar, Castiel saw that the back latch of the trailer had come undone. He offered a small prayer of thanks that the sheep hadn’t gotten out while he was in the roadhouse, or even worse, while he was driving down the road.

“I knew that was loose… I cannot believe I forgot to lock it.”

“Hush now, Ace!”

The dog stopped barking but whined and wiggled anxiously. It watched the two women’s cars leave the lot with distracted vigilance, then as soon as Castiel released its collar, it dropped its nose and began taking deep sniffing "wuffs" of scent as it worried its way around the trailer. Castiel shook his head as Ace began vigorously marking any spot it seemed his piss could reach, including the trailer’s door.

Within the truck's cab, Castiel located the trailer’s padlock and a flashlight. Heading back to the sheep he kept glancing at Ace, the way he was acting made him think that another animal had been prowling around. If the light had been better, he might have noticed the dark spatters on the gravel leading up to the trailer's door, but he didn’t, his attention focused on his dog.

Ace’s hips were pumping, air fucking.

“Ah, so a bitch passed by.” Castiel knew the signs. “Smelled you boys and was hoping for a hand with her heat. Yes?”

There was no way he could have known the effect his words were having on the wretched boy hiding and now trapped inside his trailer. Dean pressed back to the far end of the trailer, unmindful of the frightened bleating or the hooves that clipped and pinched him as he moved through. He pushed his back up against a corner and scrabbled to pull the loose straw against him, trying to cover himself with it.

“Well, you will just have to wait until we get home. I do not want you wasting those good genes on some mutt.”

There was no mistaking the snick of a padlock being snapped shut: it was a sound, Dean was all to familiar with. He stifled a sob as a narrow beam of light pierced the trailer’s darkness. It hovered closer to the front where the sheep had gathered.

Castiel made a cursory check, and a quick head count. The sheep were obviously upset, but after Ace went after their trailer and with all the barking, this was expected. They were new, didn’t know him or any of the dogs yet.

“All right, Boy!” Castiel slapped his thigh and headed back to the cab. "Hope you got that all out of your system, because we have a long ride ahead."

Ace looked up and while it was obvious he wasn’t entirely resolved with the situation, he snapped to and bounded ahead of Castiel leaping gracefully into the cab.

“Show off,” Castiel chuckled. He pushed the burger wrapper over Ace now had his muzzle tucked into and climbed in to the cab. The sound of country music flared when the engine caught, melody cut when the truck's door clicked shut.

Less than a minute later, Dean fell forward as the trailer lurched. There was the bump and crunch of gravel under the tires before the ride smoothed out when rubber met pavement.

After ten minutes with the hum of the road, the rocking vibrations of the trailer, the sheep had settled in even with the disturbing scent of their stowaway still present. They dozed, wooly sides pressed comfortably together.

All but for the lost lamb shaking in the corner. Dean’s terror kept his exhausted, burning body awake for hours as the distance  between he and the horror he'd left grew farther and each passing mile carried him closer to his new one.


	4. Openings

It was almost three hours after they’d entered the roadhouse that Sam and John emerged. John’s step only slightly unsteady despite the amount of “celebratory” alcohol he’d consumed.

“Hey, Sam! What are you doing?”

Even with the largesse from Dean’s performance and the bonus he and Sam had just won hustling pool, over the past hour John’s mood had slipped from its first phase of genial drunkenness to a much more dangerous place.

Sam held up the greasy bag in his hand containing their pup’s dinner, long cold now. “I’m going feed Dean.”

“Don’t worry about her right now; leave her be. You know she’s usually out for a good eight hours after a show. That burger’s not going to get any warmer and I wanna get back to the bunker.”

While the tone was still fairly conversational, there was an unspoken order there.

“But Dean hasn’t eaten since last night.”

Seeing this wasn’t swaying John in the least, Sam made an appeal to the man’s love of his car. “Plus, I didn’t sound her and she hasn’t pissed since her show. She might need to take a leak.”

He gestured to the surrounding lot, empty, save but for one car, the same one parked beside them as when they’d gone in, an employee’s most likely.

“You’re an idiot if you’re thinking about letting Dean out here. Besides, you know how damn long it takes her to get a good squat in these days, even when she has to piss.” John’s tone made it clear he didn’t appreciate his son pushing back.

“Get in the car, Sam. You can find a place to stop once we’ve been on the road a bit.”

Casting an unhappy eye at the trunk, Sam sighed. However, he knew now was not the time to pick a fight. He also knew that if John stuck to his usual habit, given the state he was in, he’d be sound asleep about thirty minutes after they hit the road.

“You can’t go babying her just 'cause you think she might be with pup. That’s just gonna give her a lot of bad habits we’ll have to break her of again later.”

Sam opened the driver’s side and slid in, unlocking the door for his father after. John slumped heavily into the passenger seat. He cast a hard eye at his son.

“And for the record, you’re cleaning it up if Dean does piss back there. You should have plugged her!

“Gotta be more responsible if you expect to keep your pup, Son.”

Jaw tight, mouth held in a firm line, Sam remained silent and started the car. Less than a minute later they were on the road headed back to Kansas.

* * *

Too amped on adrenaline to drift, Dean rode with his heart in his throat.

Anytime the trailer slowed or he heard another car pull alongside, he imagined it was Sam and John come after him. He could picture them in his mind, guns drawn, making the truck pull over. He’d hunted with John and Sam, seen them in action too often over the course of his life to allow himself any illusions. He harbored no doubts his owners would kill the truck’s driver rather than chance the guy calling the cops.

When he wasn’t worrying about John and Sam catching up to them, Dean fretted over what would happen when the guy who owned the trailer finally found him stowed away. His mind swung back and forth considering possible scenarios.

On one end, he envisioned a terrible kind of future where this unknown rancher kept him locked up in a stall for his dogs to fuck just like his last keepers had. On the other, he saw the guy maybe taking pity on him, giving him some clothes and a few bucks, turning him loose with his thumb and a packed lunch to navigate the highways.

While the second one was far more appealing, Dean knew he was kidding himself. He was in no shape to go anywhere right now and his body was telling him more adamantly with each mile just how stupid he’d been to leave the trunk. His guts were cramping something horrible, they usually did after a show, but tonight was worse, and he could tell he was running a fever. His plugged ass burned; his muzzled jaw ached. The foot that he’d cut in the parking lot throbbed mercilessly and he was pretty sure the ragged gash was full of sheep shit from his trek through the trailer.

Beyond these pains though, it had been almost two years since he’d been allowed to stand up straight and after how it felt stretching to shut the trunk, he knew his legs wouldn’t be supporting him in a human-like manner anytime soon. Not to mention, beyond a slight wiggling of his thumbs, his hands had become more or less useless and they hurt like hell without the bindings of the mitts on them.

_I'm a worthless, fucking mess._

And as much as he didn’t even want to think about what Sam had done to him, what other complications might be coming up in the next few months, his thoughts kept returning to what had been said in the showers.

_It couldn’t have happened. No. I know Sam had to of messed it up somehow…_

Dean shivered, but not for chill: despite the cold evening air that filled the trailer, he felt a trickle of sweat run down his spine. The straw he’d packed around him was soaked, and it itched like hell.

Yeah, he’d done a lot of good for himself with this brilliant escape plan of his.

_Gone from fucked to fucked in a matter of minutes… Dumb bitch… Big improvement…_

A bump in the road thankfully cut off the voice in his head. It also got the sheep stirring. The animals seemed to have adjusted to his presence and weren’t standing quite so close together, filling the space of the trailer now.

Too afraid of being trampled to lay down, Dean drew his bent legs up closer and folded his arms over his knees, even though sitting like this only made his battered ass ache more from the pressure on the plug in it. He dipped his head down as much as the cup of his muzzle allowed.

Turning inward, he willed his mind away from the present, tried to find that still space inside him where everything else faded. It was a skill he’d been honing since John had first started training him, but with all the “opportunities” he’d had to practice this over the last two years, he’d gotten really good at it.

With all his pain and his unease, it took him a little longer to find his opening, but he did eventually. While his tortured mind curled up in the quiet hollow Dean had located, the hum of the road gradually lulled his exhausted body into a fitful sleep.

* * *

John opened blurry eyes and noted two things immediately as his consciousness returned. The first was that he needed to piss. Made him wonder how thirsty Dean might be at this point. Not that it really mattered if the pup was or not. Dean knew too well to take any chance of a drink offered, no matter if it was piss. The second thing he was aware of, _and how could he not be,_ when it was ringing in his ears loud enough to make his temples throb, was Sam yelling.

“I don’t fucking believe this! Goddamn it!”

John had just emerged from the Impala when Sam came around the car, meeting him halfway. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he took in his surroundings. He saw they were pulled off in a small grove out in the middle of nowhere. Good thing with all the squawking his son was doing.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Sam?! You’re loud enough to wake the dead!” John winced as his own volume cracked like lightening through his skull.

“What’s wrong is you should have let me open the trunk back at the tavern. Dean’s fucking missing!”

It took a moment for him to process the words but once they sunk in, the bleariness John had woken with quickly shifted to something sharper.

“What do you mean she’s missing?” Pushing around his son, he moved to the trunk. He opened and flicked a switch just inside the tailgate. The amber glow of the trunk light illuminated its empty interior.

“What the hell do you think I mean?” Sam was past angry and moving into hysterical. “I opened the trunk and it’s empty! Dean’s gone!”

“I know you’re upset, Son, but you need to watch your fucking tone.” John’s brow furrowed as he reached in and checked the sigils painted on the inside of the trunk. His fingers sifted through the empty nest of blankets. Everything looked okay, so it wasn’t anything non-human that had taken Dean.

He closed the trunk and examined the latch. It didn’t appear to be tampered with.

“You lock the trunk like I told you to, Samuel?” John’s gaze was as accusatory as his tone.

Sam stared at him with furious disbelief. “Of course I did!” He could still remember the feel  of the trunk panel's solidity under his hands.

“Stupid bitch…” John growled. He slammed his closed fist down on the trunk lid, then immediately began rubbing circles over the strike with an open palm as though trying to apologize to the car for his harshness. "She knows what I'll do to her!"

“No way, Dad…” Sam felt panic spike inside him but he refused to believe that Dean had gotten out on his own. “Dean wouldn’t leave us! We broke her of that a long time ago.”

He ran worried fingers through his long bangs, pulling on them nervously. “Besides, she couldn’t have gotten out. I mean, how could she? She was all geared up except for the sound.”

Sam’s voice dropped a little as he spoke the truth of the situation, “Besides, Dean wasn’t in any shape to get very far. And if she had gotten out and someone found her, there would have been cops all over that place by the time we left.”

John’s face lost a little bit of its darkness as Sam laid things out. His expression became thoughtful. “Someone…” he murmured under his breath.

“What?” Sam was watching his father carefully.

“Fucking, son of a bitch!” John pulled his phone from one pocket, and the card Tan Richards had given him from another at the same time. He was so mad that he had to punch in numbers more than once before he got the order of the digits right.

“You goddamn thief!” He spat into the phone when a slightly sleepy voice picked up at last. “I want my fucking bitch back!”

On the other end of the line, Richards felt his ire at being woken evaporate. Though he didn’t care for Winchester’s tone at all, he kept his voice even.

“Not much of a greeting, Winchester.” He looked over at the clock at his bedside; it read 3:30 am. “Your manners turn into a pumpkin after midnight?”

“Cut the condescending crap, Richards, you fuck! Where’s Dean? You better not have hurt her! Regardless, you better get her bitch ass back to me ASAP, or there will be hell to pay!”

The light snort John received in response to this only further infuriated him, but he fell silent when Richards spoke again.

“Three things, Winchester, and then I’m done with this conversation. First, I’d like to point out how rich it is, your concern for your bitch’s health, seeing she looked about half dead tonight when I saw her in your trunk.

"Second, I don’t have her, but knowing you don’t either, you can bet your ass now that as soon as we're done here; I’m going to find out who does. And I’m going to make sure they’re not going to have any issues with turning her over to me... For good.”

“Finally,” Richard’s sharp tone cut off John’s furious sputtering. “I’d be a lot more cautious of who I go making those kinds of threats to.

“I know who you are Winchester, what you do. But do you have any idea who _I am_? If you don’t, you might want to turn that bright boy of yours on to doing some research.”

John pulled his phone from his ear and stared at it, eyes blinking rapidly. He couldn’t believe he’d just been hung up on.

“Dad?”

When he looked over at Sam, his son’s eyes were wide and anxious and the boy looked like he was almost on the verge of tears. John frowned, sometimes he wondered if he hadn’t chosen the wrong boy to bitch, though he knew Dean would have never taken to being a pet owner the way that Sam had.

“Richards says he doesn’t have her. I don’t know to believe him or not, Sam. But my gut tells me he’s telling the truth.

“Either way we got to get back to that roadhouse and get looking for clues. If it is Richards, I’m going to kill that bastard, but if it isn’t, we gotta track Dean down before he does.”

* * *

The instant after Richards hung up on John Winchester, he punched in another number. If it wasn’t for Winchester speaking so rudely to him, he would have found the whole situation amusing.

Sure it complicated things. He’d deferred taking Dean after the fights, though he'd had the firepower to do it. But the match had taken place on the turf of a dealer he was courting, hoping for expansion without too much mess, and he hadn’t wanted to risk disrespecting his host.

And, as he said, he knew who John Winchester was. While the man’s treatment of his bitch was deplorable, he had a good reputation as a hunter and those crazy bastards looked after their own. Not to mention, he’d gotten his business to where it was not entirely through “natural” means, so he didn’t relish being put on any hunter’s radar.

When his generous offered had been refused, his next plan had been to find out where Winchester and his creepy kid holed up and take Dean from them there. Make it look like one of their weird “demon attacks.” No survivors, no questions.

Dean would be his completely then and he wouldn’t have to be watching his back for some “ghosted out” vigilante.

He started speaking as soon as the other line picked up, “Zachariah, the plan’s shifted. Use the micro-bug that I put in the card I gave Winchester to find out where they are, where they’ve been. The idiots managed to lose their bitch and you’re going to find her before they do.”

There was nothing more he needed to say. Zachariah was a professional, one of the best. Richards hung up, knowing that the man would call back once he had any information, or more hopefully, Dean.

He set his phone back on his bedside table. After checking to see that none of the sleeping dogs that littered his bedroom floor had really roused during his conversation, he rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes. Luxuriating in the silk sheets surrounding him, and in the thought of the Winchester pup curled up next to him, _his bitch_ ; his dick began to harden; his balls throb.

He’d wanted her the moment he saw her under the first Pit tonight. So beautiful. He'd had other human puppies but they were all frauds in the end... He'd never come across anything like her. Taking her studs like that… With such a prize, her breeding should be cultivated, artful… Dean was worthy of so much more than the kind of ghetto pounding she’d received.

The thought of her being bred sped his cock to fullness. He groaned low under his breath, thinking about what Jackson had told him. What the man said he’d overheard the Winchesters talking about between themselves in the shower.

Richards knew enough, had done enough with the otherworld, not to dismiss it just as crazy talk like Jackson had done.

He pulled one of his overlarge pillows to him, pressed it against his chest and rubbed his hand over it, pretending it was Dean’s swollen belly. He imagined tiny pointed nipples under his fingers, sticky with milk, waiting for pups. Slipping the band of his sleep pants down below his dick, he began rubbing himself against the pillow. He imagined his cock held in her ass while her stomach lay heavy on the bed: he'd make sure her hungry bitch cunt was kept full in every way possible. Dean’s belly would never be flat as long as he had her.

And the pups… The pups would be so glorious… The things he’d do with them… The money they’d make him…

With these thoughts in mind, it only took a few hard thrusts against the plumped down for Richards to come. He drifted off soon after with a satisfied grin on his face.

* * *

Castiel was exhausted. He knew he probably should have pulled off for a nap about three hours ago. But he hadn’t been able to let himself stop. Something was up with his dogs and it bothered him. He wanted to get them home where he could really look them over closely.

He’d stopped twice to let them out and to give fresh water to the sheep, along with a little alfalfa. But all three of his trial dogs had gone bonkers when he let released them from their crates. Ace too had acted like an idiot. They’d gone crazy around the trailer and both Leo and George had taken after Maisy when they couldn't get into the trailer. Fortunately Maisy was a tough bitch and drove the boys off, but usually a pillar of canine decorum, even she'd behaved oddly.

Castiel wondered if there wasn’t something wrong with one of the sheep he’d bought, though he’d never seen stock affect his dogs like that before. Every time he’d looked into the darkened trailer, however, other than being rattled by his crazy dogs, the sheep seemed fine. Perfectly normal.

Pulling around the last bend before the ranch, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was always happy to arrive home, but today he was feeling this particularly strongly. His pleasure stuttered, however, when he recognized a familiar figure settled atop one of the split-rails at the ranch's entry.

He slowed as he neared and reluctantly rolled down his window.

“What are you doing here, Gabriel?”

Gabriel smiled around the sucker in his mouth, pulling it out before answering. “Good to see you too, Little Bro. Benny said you might be a little grumpy, long ride and all. See he was right.”

Hopping off the fence, Gabriel moved around and opened the passenger door. Ace huffed but moved over as he slid in.

“You did not answer my question.”

“What? So I need a reason to drop by?” Gabriel widened his eyes and blinked, the expression of innocence on his face almost comical.

Castiel was having none of his brother’s antics, however. Finally Gabriel sighed under the hard, blue stare and dropped his act. “Michael sent me. He was concerned about you.”

The truck lurched forward as Castiel punched the gas harder than was needed. He cursed under his breath knowing that this gave his wooly passengers a harsh shake. “Worried about me? Or worried about his delivery?” His voice was bitter. “I told him I’d call once I got back.”

“Look, Castiel," Gabriel  stuck his sucker back in his mouth and crunched loudly even as he continued to talk.  "You can’t blame Michael for worrying. It’s been a long time since you made a run for the family.”

“If Michael was so worried, then maybe he should have found someone else for the task. I told him I did not want to do it in the first place!”

Gabriel sighed. He looked at his brother and his tone took on a rare honesty. “You know that’s not how this family works, Castiel.”

Castiel slowed the truck almost to a stop. His blue eyes were fierce. “Yes, Gabriel. I think that I know far better than most just _exactly_ how this family operates.” He was pleased when that shut Gabriel up until the ranch came into sight.

His eyes swept over the open acres, land that had been in his family for generations. He was pleased with what he’d been able to do with it in the five years he’d managed the ranch. The barn had been renovated and expanded, the fences surrounding the closest pastures were seamless. He’d finally finished his remodel of the main house last spring and last summer’s paint job still looked fresh on all the outbuildings.

It looked idyllic and it would have been, except for the fact that both he and the ranch were a front for the family's more lucrative business, the illicit product made in the hidden structures higher up on the hills.

“Call Michael, tell him the drop went fine. But tell him, I do not want him using the trials as a cover again.” Remembering how nervous he’d felt until the guys had shown up at the competition and relieved him of the three “special” bales of alfalfa, product hidden within, Castiel suddenly felt even more exhausted.

“You can phone him on your way out.  I do not want to talk to him.”

“Aw, come on, Castiel!” Gabriel pouted. “Don’t send me back up there so soon. It’s boring!"

"You should have thought of that before you made things too hot for yourself in Denver."

Gabriel snorted at the reprimand. "I get to go back in a few weeks. But in the meantime, let me do something around here to help out for a bit. I promise, I’ll be useful.”

Castiel waved as Benny emerged from the barn and moved over to the round pen to open it up for their new arrivals.

“I know how you help, Gabriel." Castiel watched his brother with disapproval as he rolled down the window and threw his sucker stick out.  "No, thank you.”

“Boy, Cassie, you’re getting to be as dour as Michael.” Gabriel put his hands up in surrender at the killing look his brother shot him.

“Out, Gabriel.”

Gabriel complied with a sigh and stood back, watching Castiel back the trailer up to the pen.

“Hey, Boss. See you picked up some trouble on your way in,” Benny greeted, nodding at Gabriel while Castiel and Ace hopped out once the trailer was parked.

“Yes,” Castiel huffed. His weary eyes watched Ace start racing around the trailer, barking furiously. A couple of the other ranch dogs that had accompanied Benny to the pen were also acting strangely.

Noticing the dogs' behavior too, Benny’s broad brow furrowed. “What’s up with them?”

All he received in answer was the shake of a dark head. “I do not know. Something with the new sheep, I guess. Ace has been off since I picked the stock up. The rest of the crew too.

“Maybe you should lock all the dogs up, Benny. At least until I get the sheep out and we have the chance to go over them.”

It was an unusual request, but Benny nodded. Castiel had a way with animals that most folks didn’t and he’d learned to trust his boss’ instincts. He whistled the pups up, frowning when they didn’t come right away. Large hands gripped a couple of the lead dogs' collars and he pulled them into the barn to lock them in the kennels there.

“You want to make yourself useful, Gabriel. Take Leo, George, and Maisy into the barn with Benny.” Castiel opened the door on one of his truck panels and caught George’s collar before the Collie could jump out.

It wasn’t his idea of fun, but Gabriel knew he’d already pushed Castiel well beyond his normal point of tolerance, so he behaved himself for once. Taking the lead Castiel pulled from his pocket and clipped to George’s collar, he waited quietly until Castiel had leashed up the other two dogs before heading off to the barn.

Castiel breathed a low sigh of relief at the quiet that descended on the yard now that it was just him and the sheep. Then he saw Ace crawling out from under the truck. The dog had hidden there from Benny and waited to come out.

“Okay, Sneaky. Only if you behave yourself,” Castiel warned.

Ace cocked his head and “gruffed” in acknowledgement. Castiel unlocked the padlock and slid the latch back. The trailer door swung open revealing the round pen to its weary travelers.

“Come on out, this is your home now,” Castiel’s low voice soothed as he clucked at his new wards. The sheep stood there, huddled at the front of the trailer shifting uncomfortably, hesitant about leaving the space they’d become accustomed to.

Blue eyes widened in surprise when Ace suddenly darted into the trailer without waiting for his signal.

"Ace!"

The air filled with bleating as the sheep tumbled out. Castiel watched to make sure that they got out safely before swinging himself up into the trailer.

“What the hell is wrong with you,” was cut to simply, “What the hell…” When Castiel saw what Ace was after.

The growling Border Collie had someone pinned beneath him and was furiously pumping away. Castiel reacted without thinking, pulling the dog off by his collar, scrambling back out of the trailer, and slamming the door and the latch tight. He pushed the padlock closed and pulled his whining dog after him into the barn.

* * *

“Thanks, for the help, Brother,” Benny closed the latch on the last kennel.

“No problem,” Gabriel grinned. Then he nodded back towards the open barn doors. “How much longer do you think I should give him to settle in?”

The smile forming of Benny’s lips in response to the question slipped immediately when he saw his boss storm in, an expression of fury on his usually impassive face.

Neither man had time to react as Castiel shoved Ace at Benny and in almost the same instant pulled his freed fist back, landing a solid punch to Gabriel’s jaw a second later.

The older Novak’s brother’s feet went out from under him and he fell in a heap on the barn’s concrete floor.

“Hey, Boss…” Benny let go of Ace to wrap restraining arms around Castiel’s shoulders. He was lost, trying to imagine what could have made the man so angry. He knew that being asked to make a delivery for his brothers had put Castiel under a lot of stress lately, but it had been years since he'd seen him like this.

“What the holy fuck, Castiel!” Gabriel clutched his aching jaw, blood from his split bottom lip dripped down his chin.

“You think _that_ is funny, Gabriel?!” Castiel’s voice was so rough it sounded like he’d been gargling gravel. “I have had it with all your practical jokes. I have put up with your inappropriate comments about my orientation, about me and my ‘relationship’ with my animals… But this?!

“Did you stop for one minute to think of the danger you put that guy in? Forget what the dogs might have done to him! How in the hell did you even get him in there? How long has he been in there like that? He must be freezing!

“You went way too far this time, Gabriel!”

Gabriel spat the blood that had pooled in his mouth on the concrete, ignoring Benny’s frown at the action. “What the fuck are you ranting about Castiel?!”

Castiel found himself caught short by the question and by the look of pure confusion on his brother’s face.

“The dog bondage guy in the trailer…” He let his voice drift off seeing how wide Gabriel’s eyes grew. “You didn’t…”

He turned around to Benny as soon as he felt the iron grip slide from his shoulders. Castiel’s mind filled again with the details he’d caught in his brief encounter with the young man in the trailer: the tail, the collar, the mitts, the strapped legs, the muzzle…

“Boss?”

“Who did I just lock in the trailer, Benny? How did he get there if it wasn’t Gabe?…”

The look in Castiel's eyes worried Benny. Beyond the confusion in them, he saw a flicker of that old lostness. It was something he hadn’t seen in a long time and had been hoping he wouldn’t ever have to see again.

He gave his boss' shoulder a light push and the man’s feet began moving automatically forward. After locking Ace up Benny quickly fell in step beside Castiel urging him on. He heard Gabriel scrabble back up to his feet behind them.

 Benny herded Castiel out of the barn, Gabriel following after. His voice was far lighter than he felt, "Only one way to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Out of the frying pan and into the fire... Poor Dean. I can only imagine how he's going to respond when that trailer door opens again.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and a special thank to all you readers kind enough to comment.


	5. Stowaway

Outside two quick tics on the trip for gas, the first time the trailer stopped for any length it was still dark. The bark of the dogs had roused Dean from the fitful slumber he'd finally fallen into and he’d spent the entire time pressed into the corner, heart thundering so loud in his chest he was sure the whole world could hear it.

The second time the trailer pulled over and the dogs came out, sleep had long abandoned him. The pain in his limbs and the heat in his body had edged into a realm he’d never known before and his low belly had never felt so knotted.

Forced to fast the day of a breeding, it had also been well over twenty-four hours since he’d last been fed. Lean as he was, the lack of much needed calories left him weaker by the hour and his empty stomach added its own clenching hunger to all his body’s sharpness.

However, Dean hadn’t been paying as much attention to these things as one might expect. He’d been too preoccupied by his scorched throat, unable to remember the last time he’d ever been so thirsty. So thirsty, that second stop he’d kind of wanted to get caught. But the driver kept the dogs well away from the sheep that time and his check of the animals in the trailer had been cursory.

Once they’d gotten moving again, Dean almost managed to drown, dragging himself over and sticking his muzzle into one of the sheep’s watering pails. All he got for his efforts was water up his nose, which burned like hell, and just enough liquid through the gag it made his thirst worse. Something he hadn’t thought possible.

By the time the trailer finally pulled into the ranch, he was slipping in and out of consciousness and delirium. So he was entirely unprepared when the trailer doors swung open, the dog shot in, and the sheep out. The Collie knocked him over with a growl and mounted him in an instant. Too sick and terrified to do anything but submit, he just laid there under the furious animal.

His tail plug kept the dog from truly breaching him but Dean was barely aware of this, trapped under the weight, feeling the too familiar rhythm of the dog’s pumping. Then suddenly the dog was off him, the loss of fuzzy heat profound, despite how fevered he’d felt.

Dean raised hazy eyes and saw a human face. The bluest eyes he’d ever seen were staring hard at him.

He didn’t know what he expected to happen next but it still stunned him when the guy backed out of the trailer like his ass was on fire and slammed the doors, locking him in. Fear, shame, and despair hit him like freight train. At the sound of the bolt clanking shut, Dean collapsed, rolling over onto his slide amidst straw and sheep shit.

Ever since John had “bitched” him, he had come to think of his life as one endless endurance test. It was the only point of pride he had left in his miserable life: no matter what had been dished out, he’d found some way to take it. He’d come to think that his ability to suffer and survive was endless, but in this instant, seeing the look on the sheep guy’s face, Dean realized he’d just hit his limit.

There was nothing left. Sick, injured, broken… After an endless freefall, he’d finally hit bottom. His last reserve gone, no deeper place to dig into, a grief Dean had never known filled him. He closed his eyes hoping the guy had gone back to his truck to get the rifle he’d seen hanging from the gun rack. He was an intruder after all. It would be a justifiable homicide.

_And merciful._

If he’d had any tears left Dean supposed he might have cried as he waited for whatever was next.

As they neared the trailer Gabriel snorted when he saw it was bolted. “You really locked him in, Cassie? That’s hilarious. I mean, how far do you think a guy in bondage gear is going to go around here? Seriously?”

The look Benny shot him made him fall silent. Gabriel frowned and rubbed his aching jaw, rather than say anything else.

Castiel’s spine was rigid, shoulders tense as a steel spring when he slipped the latch. He pulled the door open cautiously, unsure of what to expect, holding himself to the side in case the man in the trailer came barreling out or at them, but nothing happened. In fact, inside the trailer was so still it took him a moment to find the stowaway half buried in the straw.

Seeing the black leather strapping that bound his unexpected hitchhiker, Castiel realized that his nerves had made him momentarily blind. Peering in beside him, Benny and Gabriel saw their stowaway before he did, but the sight had rendered them both immobile. They broke from this and started to follow when he set a cautious foot up on the trailer’s gate and pulled himself into it. A wave of his hand made them fall back.

Another quiet step forward and Castiel saw everything so much more clearly. The man… teenager really, had his eyes closed and his breathing was labored.

“Oh, Lord…”

The air left his lungs and Castiel felt bile rise in his throat really seeing the kid’s condition now that he wasn’t surprised. Hobbled, scratched and beaten, how he’d ever mistaken such a pitiful creature for one of Gabriel’s pranks was beyond him.

“Gabriel, go grab my duster from the truck.” Unable to pull away from the sight of the boy before him, he called this out without looking back.

“Cassie?...”

“Just do it!” His voice came out much harsher than he intended. The sound was apparently enough to rouse their stowaway.

The close-cropped, blond head, not too much darker than the straw, lifted. The green eyes that met Castiel’s stole the strength from his legs and they folded, leaving him in a crouch a few feet away from the boy.

It was the sound of anger that had pulled Dean from his stupor, knowing the tone too well and what usually followed. His head was so heavy it took a great effort to lift it, but somehow he managed. When he saw those blue eyes again, he couldn’t help but blink. The cool, blank expression in them didn’t match the voice at all and this didn’t just confuse him, it terrified him.

It was the stoic ones, in his experience, that were always the cruelest.

Dean shifted his gaze away quickly before the man took issue with being stared at. It was then he noted another man standing at the end of the trailer. The guy was built like a tank. Dean couldn’t help the tremor that seized him. He turned his attention back to “blue eyes” when he felt the man move.

He cringed as the man next to him sank down. Though he didn’t try to touch him, one quick lean forward was all it would take.

“Got it!”

Dean’s eyes darted at the sound of another voice and yet one more man suddenly appeared at the trailer’s entrance. He waved a rumpled trench coat in one hand, stilling with a frown on his face when the “tank” shushed him.

 _Three of them… For now_ …

A pitiful whimper rose in Dean’s throat. How many others would show up, would want to use him, hurt him. Though it was excruciating Dean pushed himself up and began to crawl backwards even though there was nowhere to go, no escape. He froze at the sound of “blue eyes” low voice.

“Easy there…”

There was no anger in the graveled rumble now. Somehow this just made things worse and Dean’s trembling increased. The man crouched before him remained still.

Dean wasn’t a soldier at this point, or even a bitch… _Suffering_ … that was all he was. It encompassed his whole being and all he wanted was for it to stop.

Keeping his head low, belly still almost brushing the ground, he couldn’t stop the tortured sounds that spilled from his ravaged throat. Just because he couldn’t speak, didn’t mean he couldn’t beg. Dropping his muzzled face down into the stinking straw, he closed his eyes. This time it was a sob, not a shudder that wracked his lean frame.

_No more… Please… I’m already nothing…_

For once in his life the universe finally decided to have mercy on him. A wave of dizziness crashed over him, sending Dean slumping to the trailer floor as he fainted.

The moment he saw the boy’s consciousness began to flicker, Castiel’s heart beat triple-time. He watched him wobble and fall forward. Moving in quickly, he pressed fingers to throat, just above the collar, making sure the boy had just passed out and not expired.

Castiel had known his own share of pain but the look in those green eyes, the sounds the boy made, how he moved, he’d never seen anything like it. It was possible, he feared, given the kid’s state, that he could have had a heart attack and died from terror alone.

The moment fingers grazed skin, he was struck by how hot the boy was but pleased to find beneath this, a heartbeat. Rapid like hummingbird wings, but there.

Making sure that there was nothing to impede the boy’s breathing, shaky fingers undid the buckles on the thick collar around his neck. They tangled for a moment in the gold plated tags attached to one of the D-rings. It was inscribed on both sides: “Bitch” on one and “Dean” on the other.

“Coat, Gabe!” He called as he pulled it off and threw it aside. In an instant, Gabriel was beside him.

The buckles clinked when the collar hit the ground, colliding with the heavy chain still attached to it. Given the marks on the pale neck beneath, it had been on for a long time. The muzzle was next and the slight tremor in Castiel’s hands became pronounced when it slipped off, revealing the bitted jaw behind it.

“Holy shit!” Gabriel breathed. His eyes struggled to comprehend everything he was seeing as his brother carefully removed the gag before wrapping the boy’s damaged, and still largely leather-bound body up in his old trenchcoat.

Castiel turned the kid over on his back and slipped his arms underneath him. Though thin, if standing upright, he realized that their stowaway would likely be taller than he was and unconscious like this, the kid was all dead weight.

“Here, let me help.” For once Gabriel’s voice was serious. Together, he helped Castiel stand, the coat-wrapped figure carried between them.

“What can I do?” Benny called from the mouth of the trailer.

“Go get the vet bay ready.”

With a nod at his Boss’ order, Benny set off at a quick clip and disappeared into the barn.

“Castiel, what are you thinking?” Gabriel huffed with exertion as they maneuvered out of the trailer. “This kid needs a hospital.”

“The closest of which is two hours away.” Castiel reminded as he stared at his brother. “Plus, do you think we can just drop him off there with no questions asked?” He shook his dark head.

“We could just pack him up and leave him at the entrance,” Gabriel offered.

“Even most rural hospitals have cameras on their campuses now, Gabriel. And I doubt Michael would be pleased if we brought that kind of attention to the family.”

“Well then we could just drive him somewhere and leave him where we know someone else will find him and take him in.”

At his brother’s words Castiel felt such a surge of anger he almost lost his grip on the boy in his arms. “And where do you suggest we do this? A parking lot? A roadside restroom?”

“Did you see this boy at all, Gabriel? What he’s been through? Somebody clearly already ‘found’ him. You’d leave him alone and vulnerable to that again?”

“Easy, Cassie!” Gabriel would have held up a hand in truce if they hadn’t been full. “You’re right, that was stupid of me to say. We should call Michael. I bet he has someone who could pick the kid up. Take him in so that it wouldn’t get traced back to us.”

Though his tone was even, the way Castiel bit off his next words made it clear Gabriel was only making him angrier. “We are not calling Michael.”

“Well, then what the hell are you suggesting here, Castiel?” The minute they entered the barn the dogs started barking.

Castiel frowned. It wasn’t the normal uproar when they were kenneled. He understood suddenly that there was something about this boy that set the dogs off. Had from the second he'd gotten into the trailer. As if in response to the dogs' racket, the boy in their arms, “Dean,” shifted as though he might stir.

Just then Benny emerged from the vet bay. He stepped over, lifting Dean from between the two brothers as though he weighed nothing. “I’ve got a dose of tranquilizer set up. I don’t want him waking up while he’s on the table; that would just freak him out even more.”

Seeing the brothers start to follow, Benny nodded in the direction of the kennels. “Boss, why don’t you go settle the dogs. I got this handled at the moment.”

Castiel nodded, knowing that their stowaway was in good hands. He’d met Benny in prison where the man was working in the medical unit and before that, the Cajun had been a vet at one of the country’s best thoroughbred tracks for years.

Following him to the kennel area, Gabriel obviously wasn’t done with their conversation yet.

“Have you even thought about how this kid ended up in your trailer?”

It took a moment for Castiel to pull himself from the clouds of his memory and into the moment. His brow creased.

“I know the trailer was empty before I left the trial grounds. We all hung around the trailer when I dropped Max and Sadie off at their new home. I didn't go inside the McAllister's house. Only stopped twice for gas on the way and I stayed with the truck the whole time I was at the pumps.” He knew too that he’d been alone both times he let the dogs out. Then his mind flashed back to the roadhouse.

“I stopped once to grab some burgers.”

Gabriel noted the way his brother’s gaze suddenly lost its sharpness. “But?”

Castiel’s low voice dropped to almost a whisper. “There were bikes out front, but no colors I knew. I parked in the back anyways. I did not recognize anyone inside either.”

He didn’t have to say anything more; Gabriel knew just where Castiel was going with this. “So you think that maybe this kid was sent to you as a message from Crowley?”

The thought sent a blade of ice shivering down Castiel’s spine. “Like I said, none of the bikes had his gang’s colors. It was just a random roadhouse on the way. No one knew I would pick it.”

Gabriel shook his head. “That doesn’t mean he didn’t have someone following you.”

“No…” Castiel didn’t want to believe it was possible, not after he’d worked so hard to put it all behind him. “Our families have an agreement and as far as I know nothing has changed.”

“Even so, Castiel. Whether this kid crawled into your trailer or was put there by someone else, don’t you think there’s a chance the guys who did that stuff to him might come after him, try to get him back.”

“If they do, I will not let them have him.”

There was no mistaking the conviction in his brother’s voice and Gabriel knew there’d be no dissuading Castiel from whatever ridiculous course of action he'd committed himself to, but he tried anyways. “You can’t just take this kid in and keep him, Castiel. This isn’t like one of your strays…”

“I know that, Gabriel.” The dogs quieted when Castiel entered the kennel area and signaled them to stand down. “He can make his own decision about where he goes eventually, but right now he needs help and I will be damned before I just turn him out, I am not going to leave him to a world that has obviously been so hellish for him. ”

Tossing some kibble into the runs as reward Castiel tracked the dogs happily scampering after their treats. But it was obvious to Gabriel his brother wasn’t really seeing the dogs at all. And he knew that Castiel’s notion about getting the kid better and then turning him loose wasn’t exactly realistic. There was no telling what kind mental shape the boy would be in when he woke up or anytime thereafter.

Gabriel knew too that if Castiel’s new stray hadn’t lost all his marbles from whatever the hell had been done to him, once he learned what the Novak family was involved in there was absolutely no way that Michael or his other Novak brothers would just let the kid walk.

“Michael is going to be so much more than pissed, Castiel.” While he didn’t expect this to have any effect, Gabriel had to make one last effort. If for no other reason than that when their current patriarch found out, he could at least say he tried to talk Castiel out of it.

“Like I said before, Gabriel: we are not telling Michael about this.” Castiel turned to face him and his blue eyes narrowed. “And if he does happen to find out about it… I’ll deal with it _and_   with the person who tells him.”

“Now, if you still want to be helpful, go get the first guest room set up. I want a ton of quilts on that bed and push it into the corner between the windows. Empty out the closet and put a bunch of blankets in there too.” Castiel turned on his heel and headed to the vet bay. He called over his shoulder, “And if you still plan on hanging around here longer, know you’ll be sleeping on the couch or here in the barn cause I'm not sharing my bed with you. And you can't have one of the other guest rooms cause you're not going to be staying here that long.”

Castiel left his brother gawking after him. Pulling a deep breath, he tried to clear his mind of their conversation and all the memories that it stirred within him. The small swell of pride that flared in chest when he stepped into the ranch’s medical area helped push down some of his disquiet.

When he’d set the ranch up after his return from prison he’d made sure to install a top grade animal care unit. Their spread was located far enough from any immediate animal medical help outside their own, he had wanted to make sure his animals were always cared for. Of course, it had other uses too on occasion, and as long as he turned a blind eye when Michael brought in a wounded “colleague” who needed some of Benny’s discreet medical attention, his brother hadn’t complained about the costs of getting the bay set up.

“Hey, Boss.”

Benny called out from where he was working on Dean; the boy laid atop a blanket on the big table that occupied the center of the room. He looked smaller, more naked, and even more fragile to Castiel now that Benny had all the strapping off him.

Seeing the question in the blue eyes regarding him from the door, Benny shook his head. “It’s bad.”

Castiel moved in closer watching as Benny scooped the unconscious boy up and set him into one of the bathing troughs filled almost to the brim with cold water. “I need to get his temperature down. I thought it might be a drug, something like ecstasy at first. But now I’m thinking it’s infection. Once he’s out of the tub, I’ll get a saline drip in to help hydrate him and a round of antibiotics ”

Drawing up alongside the tub, Castiel dipped his hand into the chilled water and took hold of one of Dean’s. He lifted it up carefully and his eyes widened in shock, seeing the state of it without the mitten.

“Yeah.” Benny’s voice was heavily weighted. “I’m going to need to do some debriding and likely splint his fingers to get them to uncurl. His hands must have been in those things for months to get like that.

“His leg muscles show severe atrophy too, and along with the state of his knees… Well, my guess is it’s been a long time since this boy was walking either.”

“Dean…”

The word was said in such a quiet way Benny almost missed it.

“What?”

Castiel paused a moment before tenderly lowering the tightly curled hand in his back into the water. He spoke again, but his voice didn’t get any louder. “There was a name on his… the collar,” he whispered.

“The tag said _Dean_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if this story seems slow moving to some, I guess that's just how I roll. I like plot and I have never liked it when a hurt/comfort fic rushes the "comfort" aspect.
> 
> Anyway, for those of you willing to hang out with me and my snail's pace, I appreciate you for sticking with me. Next chapter will have Dean waking up and he and Castiel really beginning to interact for the first time.
> 
> Thanks for reading and, of course, comments are cherished... Well, not the flamey ones, but you know what I mean.


	6. Awakenings

When finally pulled from the tub, Dean was laid on the table once more.

As Benny efficiently set about getting the I.V. started, Castiel stayed where he was, watching, knowing there was little he could do to help right now, but unable to bring himself to leave either.

“I’m going to pull some blood from him in a few minutes. You’ll have to ask Gabriel to get one of his contacts in the city to run some panels for us. STI’s is high on the list. Benny shook his head and motioned over to the counter behind him.

“That plug… Fuck. How long do you think he was in the trailer?”

Castiel moved over and his eyes grew huge looking at the obscene size of the tail plug lying on the counter. He couldn’t imagine having something that big inside him for a single second, and Dean must have had in it him for hours.

“I think he got in or was put in there at a roadhouse I stopped at early on… So over twelve hours.”

 _Put in there?_ Hearing this Benny’s head shot up, his thoughts immediately went to Crowley.

He glanced back at Castiel and knew that now was not the time to talk about this, so he stayed silent on the subject and instead returned his attentions to their stowaway. Set next to the tail plug, Castiel picked up a large, sealed plastic bag. It held a soiled blanket and a bunch of swabs. He turned back to Benny, his expression one of question.

“It’s not a rape kit, but it’s the best I could do.” Benny offered in explanation hearing the crinkle of plastic behind him. “I doubt that any of it would be admissible as evidence if the kid ever gets to the cops, but it never hurts to be prepared.”

He looked up from taping the I.V. he’d set into a thin wrist, no way he’d put one into the kid’s damaged hands. Meeting Castiel’s gaze, his face said everything that the silence between them didn’t. Benny knew their new ward was unlikely to ever get to the cops now that they’d taken him in. He also knew his boss had resources and was just as unlikely to let this kid’s tormentors go unpunished if he could find out who they were.

He dropped his eyes and flushed the vein with saline before hooking up the drip. “Over twelve hours in that trailer you said? Boss, when I worked that plug out of him, he still soaked that blanket through with all the jizz that had been pumped into him.

“He’s going to need to be thoroughly cleaned out and off.”

A large hand brushed against the dark blond hair, stiff with the residue of dried sperm not washed away during Dean’s post-breeding shower. Benny’s pale eyes trailed over the scratches scrabbled into the lean sides, the bruising on the boy’s narrow hips. “I highly doubt that it was all human, either.”

“What?”

The word escaped Castiel’s throat, a choked growl. But suddenly it made sense to him, how Dean was dressed, the tag on the collar, the configuration of the boy’s abrasions and the belt of bruises at his hips. His mind flashed to Ace atop the teen: the smell of other dogs on Dean must have been what stirred his own up so much.

The thought of what Dean had been subjected to, the way someone had used the dogs as well, sickened him. Castiel brought his hand to his mouth to keep from retching.

“Boss, I can’t say that’s the worst of it.” Benny’s voice was heavy.

_What more could they have possibly done to him?_

The question never made it out of Castiel’s mouth, however, because he was all too well aware of human beings' seemingly unlimited capacity for cruelness. Instead, he watched Benny carefully roll Dean over on his side. The vet lifted a bruised thigh. Not really wanting to see, but drawn nonetheless, Castiel stepped over.

The first thing that caught him was Dean’s hideously swollen, purpled hole, still gaping. Pulling his appalled gaze away from the sight, he then caught what Benny really wanted him to see. A harsh gust of air flared from his nostrils and his hands grabbed on to the table’s edge for support. Dizzied with horror, Castiel felt faint.

“Somebody castrated him.” Pulling the thigh held in his large hand up just a bit higher Benny motioned with his other hand. “Hope they at least used an anesthetic of some kind. Bastards didn’t just take his rocks, they cut his sac down to the quick. Made it look like it was never there.”

A thick finger pointed, but didn’t touch the scar that ran from the edge of Dean’s taint to the base of the boy’s flaccid cock. “You can tell it was a home job too. Roughness of that stitch. It’s skilled, but not professional by any stretch.”

The fury in the growl of Benny’s words almost equaled the fire burning within Castiel’s own chest.

“What I want to know is why the sick fucks who did this gave him hormones after they cut him.”

“I do not understand...” There was so much here that Castiel couldn’t fathom, but Benny’s words gave him something to distract his racing mind and he was glad for it. He could feel himself spinning apart bearing witness to so much suffering and now was not the time to lose it.

The same finger that had pointed out the terrible scar moved up and this time gently brushed a purpled-black spot on one of Dean’s hips. It sat towards his back, high on his flank above the cheek of his ass; the placement of it incongruent with his other bruisings.

“This is the right spot for giving a “T” shot. That hematoma looks like the injection was recent, and sloppy. Maybe they were in a hurry when they administered it, or maybe they used a dull needle.

“But it’s not just that, this kid… Dean… He’s got stubble. His body’s been shaved but the hair’s there. And it’s not just lack of proper cleaning, but his skin’s not soft, not like it would be if he’d been without testosterone as long as that scar indicates he has. His chest is tight too, no swelling, his nipples are swollen, but that’s uh..." Benny searched for a word to describe the obscenity he was seeing, "use… Not hormones.”

After settling Dean on his back once more, Benny rubbed a hand over his scruffy beard. “Without testicles, that testosterone is something we’re gonna want to keep up on once this kid is back amongst the living. I don’t have that in my cache though.”

“I’ll talk to Gabriel.”

It was hard for Castiel to get the words out; each one threatened his clenching stomach. For the first time he was glad his brother was a drug dealer, one with good connections. He knew that the lab work and the “T” would be no problem to obtain. The bigger issue would be getting this done without alerting Michael.

“Anything else?” He kept his gaze averted, not wanting Benny to see how much Dean’s suffering affected him. Though he imagined his right hand already knew.

“Tell Gabriel to make it topical, when this kid comes to I don’t imagine he’s going to feel inclined to have anyone sticking stuff of any sort into him. And he can apply it himself once his hands start healing, well before he'll be able to give himself an injection.

"I’ll make a list of anything else I can think of and bring it up with me, with Dean, when he’s ready to go to the house.”

“Right now though, I’ve got some serious work to do here.”

Castiel nodded. His ribcage suddenly felt three times too small for his chest and he was anxious to get out of the bay and let Benny do his thing. He turned and left the barn without saying another word, afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he was to open it.

No sooner did he make it out of the barn, than Castiel doubled over, vomit hitting the dusty ground between his booted feet. He found himself brought to his knees for the second time that day by a kid he’d only known for a couple hours.

To his right, Castiel heard the bleating of his new sheep huddled together in the round pen. Their voices sounded lost, puzzled by their sudden shift in circumstances. He felt their confusion and their fear; it resonated deep within in him. Still, he was confident that in a day or two, they’d be settled, feel easy in their new home and know that they were looked after and protected.

Tears filled Castiel’s eyes and he shivered. He only hoped that in time their new green-eyed lamb might be able to reach that same conclusion.

* * *

 

The light of the small lamp on the bedside table cast a soft glow; otherwise the guest room was dark. Castiel set the book he was reading down with a sigh. His eyes drifted over to the quilt-wrapped boy on the bed.

Dean’s face was peaceful, sleeping, and at the moment between nightmares. It made him look so young - innocent. Castiel‘s chest ached knowing how far from the truth this was.

Blue eyes left Dean and scanned the room.

He’d had Gabriel take out the pictures of dogs and wolves that previously adorned the walls. Not just here but throughout the house. Birds filled this guest room now, some brightly colored, but most images of ravens and crows. Castiel had always held a special affection for these black birds and he hoped that there was nothing about them that would trigger Dean.

He rubbed tired eyes. At Benny’s suggestion they had kept Dean heavily sedated for the first three days after they’d found him. Now that the fever had broken, however, and he’d stabilized, they’d tapered off and the boy would be coming around hopefully, within the next few hours.

Shifting his gaze from the walls to the I.V. bags that had been providing all of Dean’s nutrients and most of his fluids, Castiel noted their levels. Benny should be up shortly to change them out. Change Dean too if he needed it.

After that first night, they’d sent Gabriel a few town’s over to pick up some adult diapers and a wheelchair along with a bunch of other supplies. Despite complaining and a bunch of terrible uncomfortable jokes, most at Castiel’s expense, the older Novak had finally run his errands.

They’d diapered Dean because Benny had been reluctant to catheterize him. He’d said that the opening of Dean’s urethra had showed signs of having been stretched, probably by _sounding_ , Benny had called it. Castiel knew that despite his own experiences he still tended to be naïve in a lot of ways, and when Benny explained what the practice entailed, his balls had tried to crawl back up inside him.

It sounded horrible.

So he could see why Benny didn’t think it would sit well with Dean to wake up, finding that his body had been intruded upon in yet another way. Besides, they had decided not to restrain the boy at all, even though both he and Benny worried that if Dean panicked when he woke up he would tear his I.V.’s out. Given this concern already, adding a catheter to this mix hadn’t seemed wise.

Castiel hoped they’d made the right call.

He also hoped once Dean was conscious, he’d be able to tell them when he needed to go to the bathroom so they could do away with the diapers. There was a lot, actually, Castiel hoped that Dean would be able to tell them.

_Eventually._

The weight of a heavy gaze on him roused him from his thoughts and Castiel looked down at the bed. Deep green eyes stared up at him and suddenly he realized he was about to find these things out, much faster than he’d expected.

* * *

 

Unlike for most of his life, coming to with a jolt, this time Dean rose to consciousness slowly. He didn’t know it but the drugs in his system helped this, kept his mind slow, muzzy, like he was emerging through a tunnel of fluff.

It was a nice change actually, and in his first few seconds of waking, Dean thought maybe he’d finally been lucky enough to die. Hell, if he’d known it was going to be so comfortable, he would have let it happen a lot sooner.

He was wonderfully warm, wrapped in softness and whatever he was laying on; it was not the sticky carpet of some cheap hotel or the scratchy felt of the Impala’s trunk. Breathing in, without opening his eyes, Dean’s lungs pulled cool, sweet air into them. Wherever he was smelled nice; unlike the musky or industrial scents of rented rooms, or the stuffy air of the bunker that reeked of too many guys and not enough cleaning. Most importantly, it didn’t smell like dogs, or John, or Sam, or spunk of any kind.

For a moment Dean wondered if maybe heaven really existed, though if it did, he couldn’t imagine he’d of made it there. He would have been happy to allow himself to drift along in that little fantasy, however. But too soon, his body was waking up with the rest of him and a dozen different aches made themselves known.

_Not heaven then…_

But certainly not the hell he was used to.

It made Dean curious and fearful simultaneously. As much as he wanted to remain in this place of peaceful easiness, he drew a deep breath and slowly blinked his eyes open. His heartbeat kicked into overtime when he realized he was on a bed. John’s voice rang loud in his still cloudy mind.

_"Down Bitch! Dog sluts belong on the floor, unless their master gives them permission.”_

Heavy limbs shifted as Dean struggled to move. John would be pissed if he caught him where he didn’t belong. And if he didn’t… Well, his experiences of Sam and beds weren’t the best either, even when he’d been invited into them.

His movement caused part of the quilt covering him to fall away. Dean stilled, realizing this wasn’t some ratty hotel coverlet, or bunker blanket, nor was it one of Pastor Jim or Bobby’s, neither of whom he’d seen for a couple years now. Even more than the quilt though, what froze Dean was his hands: mittens off, wrapped in white gauze, fingers splinted straight. He saw the I.V. in his wrist, the pushed up cuff of a long-sleeved tee-shirt above this.

_What?_

_Dogs don’t get people clothes, Dean. Stupid puppy!_

All of this was wrong, so wrong… He was a bitch and if John or Sam saw him like this he was going to be so fucked.

A noise to his side and Dean’s eyes flew up, panicked; just sure it was one of his owners. He physically started when he saw the strange man sitting in a chair not five feet from where he lay. The guy didn’t move, however, he seemed lost somewhere deep in his thoughts.

Though he felt himself hyperventilating, surprised his movement hadn’t already alerted the man to his being awake, Dean fought to keep his breath quiet. He didn’t want to do anything to draw the guy’s attention. Then within a few seconds, he realized there was something familiar about the handsome face despite its blankness.

_I know him somehow…_

His body went rigid when the man’s head slowly turned and a pair of ice blue eyes met his own.

“Easy there…”

The guy didn’t move but Dean’s body reacted to the gravelly voice like a slap. He dropped his eyes and curled in on himself as the floodgates lifted in his mind and, in an instant, the memories of his last breeding, his escape, and his final moments in the trailer came churning back. Some of his initial fear eased when he understood he was still free from Sam and John, but in its place he found exhaustion and a familiar, soul-crushing resignation.

The hopelessness that had gripped Dean before he'd passed out squeezed him still to the marrow, leaving his will to fight or to flee weak at best.

Castiel watched the boy flinch and shrink, knew the second Dean recognized him. His body tensed watching him react. The boy’s panic unnerved him, but even so, he made no move forward. He sat still as a stone, waiting. It wasn’t until he saw the teen slump in uneasy surrender Castiel even spoke again.

“Easy, Dean.”

At the sound of his name, Dean’s eyes flew up and caught him in a pop-eyed stare. Castiel met the frightened, questioning gaze before averting his eyes, not wanting to seem confrontational or domineering.

“It was on the tag... on the er' collar.”

Even terrified as he was, Dean’s cheeks heated up at the mention of the collar. He was aware now of its absence. Actually of all the gear this guy had seen him in, and taken off of him too, apparently. Hot shame flooded his stomach when the man dropped his eyes and looked down at his hands, resting lightly on jean-clad thighs.

“Dean…”

Though it was spoken softly, conditioned for years to obey and obey quickly, Dean’s head lifted to the call of his name without even thinking. He might not be collared and strapped anymore, but as weak and damaged as his body was, at the moment, this strange man with the ice-blue gaze had him at his mercy no less than his previous owners had.

“I do not know if that is your birth name or one that someone else gave you…” Castiel allowed the last part of his sentence to drift not wanting to stir the boy any more with thoughts of his previous captors. “I guess what I am asking is if 'Dean' is what you want to be called… And if I may call you that?”

Castiel held his breath at how the scared, tired eyes widened at his words. Would they be understood, would it frighten him more? His own chest ached in sympathy with how the boy's lungs must be burning with the rapid shallow breaths he was taking. Castiel's expression didn’t change, but a ridiculous surge of warmth filled himl when Dean dropped his eyes and nodded.

“Dean is okay, then?” He asked again just wanting to make sure. The dark blond head nodded once more without looking up.

“Well, Dean… This must be very difficult for you… Very strange. Frightening, I imagine. But if you are okay to listen, I have a few things I would like to tell you.”

 _Very strange is an understatement_ , Dean thought, staring at the clean sheets he was lying on. But if the guy wanted to ramble at him, fine. He was still trying to process everything and this would give him such much needed time to pull his shit together.

Although, he had to admit, being asked if he could be called his own name only added to his confusion. It struck him why this guy didn’t ask him if he wanted to be called “bitch” too, cause that was also on his tags.

Then he wondered why the guy asked him anything at all… Since obviously he was the one in charge. And it had been years since anyone had petitioned his opinion or permission for anything.

_“A bitch takes what it’s given.”_

Dean winced away from John’s voice in his head. He was almost relieved when the man asked him another question, it drowned out the other unhappy voices filling him.

“Before I start, are you comfortable? Thirsty maybe?”

Dean fought down the swell of emotion these questions caused: they'd been so rarely asked of him. And usually, if he actually gave an answer, it was disregarded, laughed at, or used to incite some sort of cruelty.

 _“Thirsty pup?”_   The first time John had asked that and he’d answered with a nod of his head, he’d gotten a cock in his mouth and a belly burning with urine for the trouble. So rather than do anything, Dean stayed still and silent, despite knowing in the end that this too might lead to punishment.

Instead of reprimand, his ears caught the soft clink of ice cubes. Cautiously he peered up and saw a sweating pitcher on the small nightstand. He couldn’t help but lick his chapped lips as he watched the man fill a tall, glass tumbler with the most delicious looking water.

He tensed, but the man moved very slowly and slid off his chair into a kneel beside the edge of the bed. He offered the glass with both hands.

“I am happy to take a drink first... If you are concerned that it has been altered.”

Dean could actually smell the water he was so thirsty. The comment, however, took him by surprise and he felt a sharp pang of disappointment in himself for not thinking about that possibility. Not consuming anything procured by hands other than one’s own was a basic rule of hunting.

But then he hadn’t been a hunter for a long time, hadn’t had anything to drink that hadn’t come out of a bowl on the floor, a toilet, or someone’s cock either.

He wondered if this still wasn’t part of a trick that would lead to him being punished. At the moment, despite how the thought made him tremble, he didn’t care. He was just so thirsty. He propped himself up enough to tentatively reach for the glass with his gauzed hands. He expected them to be painfully slapped away, but instead all he got was...

“Okay if I help you?”

Green eyes narrowed, but it only took Dean a second to realize that holding the glass with his wrapped hands would be a feat. Biting his bottom lip, finally, he nodded. He still braced the sides of the tumbler with his bandaged hands, watching as the man helped support it at its bottom. One hand on the glass, the other set palm open, down on the edge of the mattress where it was easily visible.

He tried to keep track of the guy but the second the cold water hit his parched tongue, Dean couldn’t help but close his eyes at the blissful feeling. The water was sweet and he couldn’t remember ever tasting anything so good.

“Easy there…”

It was almost a fight to blink his eyes back open, and all he could do not to whine when the glass was pulled away.

“I will give you another drink here in just a bit, okay. Do not want to overdo anything right out of the gate.”

Slowly the glass was lifted from Dean’s hands and he watched with longing as it returned to the bedside table. The man resumed his perch on the chair too. Dean wiped his wet lips with the back of a gauzed hand and allowed himself to lay back down, his body trembling from the simple exertion of just propping itself up.

How weak Dean actually was did not go unobserved and Castiel found himself marveling again that the boy had managed to survive as long as he had.

Once they were both settled, he started speaking again, making sure to go slowly, to give Dean the chance to take in what he was saying.

“Dean, you have had a bad fever along with your other injuries and you have been sleeping for a few days now, recovering.

“You are in Colorado. At my family’s ranch.

“I am Castiel and I run the ranch for my brothers who are in business elsewhere. Our spread is deep in low mountain country, miles away from people.”

Seeing how this made the boy tremble, Castiel silently cursed himself. He’d mentioned their isolation as as a comfort, but he could see how Dean likely heard it as something else.

“What I meant by that, Dean, is that you are in a safe place here. No one will harm you. I know that you have absolutely no reason to believe me. And I certainly do not expect you to. But I do hope that I can show you the truth of this over the time that you are here.

You are in the ranch’s main house. There will be two other people here from time to time. Benny, who is our… medic.” Castiel caught himself about to say “vet” and was glad he didn’t. It wouldn’t help Dean’s esteem at all.

“Benny tended your injuries and will continue to do so.”

Castiel watched the boy’s eyes shift from his gauze-wrapped hands to the I.V. bags hanging from the headboard of the bed.

“You were too unstable to get to a hospital; the nearest one was too far away. And with what you have been through, you might wonder why I didn’t call the cops…”

At the words cops, Dean began shaking his head adamantly “no,” despite how it made it swim.

Hunters were at odds with law most places, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t infiltrated them to obtain information for their networks. Besides, the last time he’d had a run in with the law, John had pimped him out to a K-9 unit. Between the German Shephards and their bulldog handlers, he hadn’t been able to shit straight or even hardly crawl for almost a week after. It left him with no desire to see another police officer. Ever.

A frown crossed Castiel’s face seeing Dean’s reaction to the mention of police. He wondered what had happened to cause such obvious terror. While it made things easier in a way to know Dean wasn’t anxious to report what had happened to him it only stirred more questions.

This new distress and the effects it had on the boy’s already taxed nerves was obvious. While he wanted to take one of Dean’s hands or place a palm on a shaking shoulder to comfort, Castiel knew this would likely only make things worse. So he gripped the legs of his jeans tighter and continued on, detouring back to who else Dean would be meeting.

“My brother Gabriel is here in the house too, so you will be seeing him as well at some point. He is…” Castiel struggled to find a way to prepare Dean for the eventuality of their interactions. “Well, mostly just a nuisance, really, but he never means any harm.

“No one here means you harm, Dean, or wants to add to your injuries in any way. We just want you to rest and get better.”

While Dean took in Castiel’s words and damned himself for finding the man’s voice soothing, his mind pulled everything he’d just been told apart. No hospital, no Police- _thank fuck!_

But while these things were relieving in their own way, no one had ever been kind to him without a cost. So, despite Castiel’s assertions, Dean had no doubt he was now being held by a trio of perverts… Willing to play doctor and caretaker to get him healed up enough to break him down once more.

_A real deliverance, mountain man, gangbang, I bet…_

Then Dean’s mind went to the dogs he remembered that lived here too. His now tailless ass clenched at the thought. Having seen him that way, decked out as he was in the trailer, it would probably be only a matter of time.

 _Just like what happened with John, once he got bored with me._ Though Dean knew that wasn’t the whole reason the man he'd once called "father" had bitched him. The thought brought a burst of pain to his chest he hadn’t expected.

It…This... was all too much.

Even though he knew he was being stupid, exhausted already, Dean's head dropped back down on the downiest pillow he’d ever known in his life and his eyes closed.

Maybe he could get used to this new situation: the three guys and their dogs. If he was a good bitch, maybe they wouldn’t hurt him too badly. Maybe they’d just keep him here and not whore him out too. If he could sleep on a bed like this, even at the foot of it every night, it might be worth it. Throw in some table scraps that didn’t taste like they were meant for a rabbit like Sam's did, it might even be a pretty good life.

At least until he could find a way to escape again and try again for a better one.

Castiel watched Dean’s reactions to their first exchange, stunned. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected from the kid, yelling, thrashing, trying to get away, but certainly not this broken quiet. Then he saw the tears slowly leaking out of the corners of the boy’s closed eyes, how tense the lean frame was under the blankets, like Dean was waiting to be struck.

Castiel cursed himself, feeling as though he’d somehow failed already. _I am so bad with people._

“Dean…”

Though the word was spoken softly, but the green eyes were open in an instant. Dean felt a rough twist in his guts realizing he’d wandered off inside himself without having been properly dismissed yet.  _Fuck, I am being a bad bitch already._

Hesitantly he lifted his gaze to meet Castiel’s. The man’s face was as still as always, but there was a pain and a softness in those blue eyes that startled him.

_Why isn’t he angry?_

Dean couldn’t recall the last time anyone had looked at him like that. It wasn’t pity exactly, but it unmoored him all the same.

“Do you have any questions? You can ask me anything; I will answer as best I can.”

There were a thousand questions in Dean’s mind right now, but the thought of speaking any one of them threatened to choke him. In all honesty the last time he’d tried to use “people words” as John called them, he’d woken up with his balls cut off. He hadn’t offered a non-canine sound to communicate since.

Fresh heat rose to his cheeks when Dean realized that Castiel must have seen his lack, knew what a true bitch he was: no longer a man, never going to be one now either.

It was like this Castiel guy was reading his thoughts, because the sweet rumble of his voice broke the silence once more. “No one will punish you, if you speak, Dean.” Seeing the way Dean had started trembling, he added softly. “No one is going to punish you if you don’t speak either.”

“Okay?”

While he didn’t believe it, Dean gave a slight nod of acknowledgement.

“Look who’s up!”

Both Dean and Castiel started at the hearty voice. Benny stood, hands in his pockets, leaning in the doorway.

“Dean, this is Benny.”

Benny made no move to come into the room, instead he waved from where he stood. “Hey, little brother. Nice to see you back among the living. You took us on a bit of a ride there for a time.”

Dean had instinctively hunched down, his heart pounding. Castiel with his impassive face and particular way of speaking was intimidating, but this guy Benny was built like a gladiator.

“Alright if I come in?”

It took Dean a minute to realize that Benny wasn’t asking Castiel, he was asking him.

“I want to change out those I.V. bags and if you’re up for it, I’ve got a protein shake too... Chocolate” Benny added by way of enticement.

Overwhelmed, Dean wondered for a minute what would happen if he said “no,” but he knew he was in no shape to go testing his new keepers, so he nodded instead, simultaneously trying to curl himself smaller.

Seeing that Dean was getting close to unraveling, Castiel rose slowly. He thought it might be easier if the boy only had to deal with them one at a time. It might make the situation seem less threatening. But as soon as he started to step away, a low whine made him stop.

“Do you want me to stay too, Dean?”

Fresh shame flushed Dean’s cheeks when he realized that pitiful sound had come from his own throat. Truthfully he didn’t know what he wanted, other than to be allowed to slip back into unconsciousness, go back to where everything was peaceful. But so far the Castiel guy hadn’t tried to hurt him and he was apprehensive about being left alone with someone new. So he nodded, even as his heartbeat accelerated when the room shrank a bit as Benny moved into it to join them.

Dean cast his eyes down, internally calling himself a " _pussy"_ and a " _bitch"_ for asking Castiel to stay. But when Castiel spoke next, the warmth in his voice didn’t allow him to continue feeling small.

“I am happy to stay, Dean. Whatever makes you feel most comfortable.” He returned to his chair and pulled it a little farther out  before he sat down again, allowing enough space for Benny to step up bedside without crowding their patient.

Benny had ducked back out into the hall again to grab his supplies, before moving over to the bed. He set his bag on the floor and knelt down so that he wouldn’t seem so intimidating.

“So, I imagine my boss mentioned that I’m the doc around here.” Benny smiled when this got his a slight nod from Dean. “Well, in addition to your drips, I’d like to do a couple other things. Like change the wraps on your hands, check the stitches I had to set in that bad foot of yours, and see how some of your other injuries are doing.”

Pulling a syringe from his bag, Benny held it up so Dean could see it. “I’m going to talk you through everything that I do. So there won’t be any surprises. Okay? And if anything feels bad you let me know. I don’t want to hurt you.

“And this…” Benny waved the syringe, “I’d like to give it to you before we start. It’s liquid lorazepam, it’s a benzo and it will help you relax. No too much, just enough to feel like a couple beers at the end of a long day. That okay with you, Champ?”

Dean studied Benny’s face. It was so open and even in the rooms dim light he didn’t see any shadows there. And honestly he would gladly take anything the man offered if it would ease the tightness that gripped his chest, the panic that made his whole core tremble beneath the skin where it wasn’t visible.

Seeing the acquiescence in the wary and weary green eyes, Benny chuckled lightly. “Good man.” He uncapped the syringe and slipped it into the port.

It wasn’t immediate, but within a couple minutes, while Benny listened to his chest and checked his temperature, Dean felt the knot in his chest begin to loosen, all his sharp edges subtlety soften.

“Before I change your bandages and get these new drips going; do you need to use the bathroom, Dean?” Benny released the I.V. feeds as he asked.

While it hadn’t been at the forefront of his consciousness, the second the question was posed, Dean was suddenly aware of the pressure in his pelvis and his bladder started hollering for immediate release.

“I’ll take you, no problem.” Benny moved in slow enough not to startle, but fast enough not to allow Dean too much time to protest either. He gently pulled the bedclothes off Dean and slipped strong arms under him.

Dean’s breath hitched when he felt himself lifted from the bed. He stiffened in Benny’s arms but didn’t struggle, too mortified to move when he realized that under the gray sweats he was wearing he could feel he was also wearing a diaper.

_Sick fucks…_

Dean wished he could feel angrier, but the med Benny had given him kept it from him. _Probably all part of their plan._

Maybe it wasn’t a bitch but a baby these guys wanted. Dean could imagine the promised protein shake coming in a baby bottle, nursing the rubber teat just a precursor to these guys’ cocks.

He was so lost in his thoughts it surprised Dean when he was set down again. He realized rather than carry him, Benny had settled him in a wheelchair. He stayed still as he was pushed into a decent-sized connected bathroom through a door he’d assumed was another closet.

Here, Benny lifted him up and with medical efficiency stripped him down before settling him on the toilet. It was strange to be handled in such a clinical way. Dean was stunned but grateful the guy didn’t try anything lewd at all. Sam had been in charge of most of his bodily functions before and could never let him do his business without copping a feel of some sort or finding some way to turn it into a torment instead of a relief.

“Sorry about the depends, little brother. I didn’t want you to wake up with a tube in your dick and this seemed the best way to keep things hygienic.

“Now you’re awake, hopefully you’ll only have to wear these another day or so. We’ll make sure you’re on a schedule, or you can let one of us know too, anytime you have to go. And once we get those hands healed up you’ll be able to use the chair and get yourself here and squared away on your own. Yeah?”

“I’m gonna give you a little privacy, right now though, while I go change the sheets and get stuff set up for you for the night.” Benny pulled a small bell from his jeans’pocket. It had a ribboned- loop attached to its top and he hung this over one of Dean’s scabbed thumbs.

“Give me a ring when you’re done, or if you need anything. Okay, Kiddo?”

Benny stepped out, all but closing the door behind him. Dean stared at the door for a long time, then at the bell on his thumb. Usually, when there wasn’t a place for him to go outside, Sam set him on all fours in the tub and made him piss there.

He willed his bladder to let go, but it didn’t happen.

It wasn’t just his nerves, although he kept waiting for someone to barge in and tell him he was being a bad bitch. Over the last few months, it hurt so much for him to piss sometimes it seemed like his body was reluctant to let him do it. Both John and Sam had complained about how long it took him usually now and he’d been punished for it more than once.

_You're not sounded, not even caged... Take advantage before they start, idiot._

Finally his bladder relented and Dean exhaled a tired sigh of relief when he felt the stream flow from his dick. He was kind of amazed too that it didn’t hurt as much as he'd become used to.

Once he finished, rather than ring the bell, Dean continued to sit. He took in his surroundings with increasingly heavy eyes. The bathroom was maybe the cleanest he’d ever been in. Soft green walls with matching towels hung on the rack near the tub. It was like he’d been lifted up and set in another world.

Through the crack in the door Dean heard the low rumble of male voices in the other room while Benny and Castiel conversed, the doc’s occasional chuckle, and the flap of linens as the sheets were changed. Such simple domestic sounds shouldn’t have broken his heart, but they did.

He was still silently crying when Castiel tapped softly on the door. “Did you fall asleep on us, Dean?”

Dean tried to snuffle as much snot back into his nose as he could. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. He was relieved when Castiel didn’t comment on his bitch-fest, just silently helped him up and put his clothes back together with less grace but the same clinical touch that Benny had.

Rather than set him back in the wheelchair, however, Castiel carried him out and set him on the bed. Dean didn't protest, though he wanted to: he just didn't have the energy. A few minutes later after some swallows of protein shake, from a plain old can, and a few more sips of water, Dean found himself tucked amidst fresh linens, the soothing weight of several blankets on top of him.

Dean could barely keep his eyes open as he watched Benny finish hooking his drips back up. The big man turned to Castiel who was hovering at the foot of the bed.

“I’ll do his hands and that other in the morning. He’s exhausted and I don’t want to push him any further right now. And you, Boss, should get to bed yourself. You’ve been here almost nonstop since we brought him up here.”

Castiel started to protest, but Benny raised a large hand cutting him off. “I got this. Trust someone else to watch over him for a time… You too.”

“Alright,” Castiel conceded with a sigh. “But call me if… Well, if anything… You know…”

Benny nodded. He grinned, but it did nothing to mask the concern that filled his eyes. “Got it, Boss. Now get.”

Once assured that his boss had finally gone, Benny settled himself into Castiel’s chair after pulling a comic book out of his back pocket. The cover caught Dean’s attention and Benny noticed.

“Like vampires, Dean?” He watched the boy shiver beneath the covers and his blond head give a sleep-heavy shake.

“Yeah, me neither.” Benny sighed as he flipped the vampire fic open. “You can rest easy though, little brother, ain’t no monsters around here.”

That was the last thing Dean heard before his heavy lids slipped closed. And while he didn’t believe it, he hoped with what was left of his heart that there might be some truth in Benny's words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deep thanks goes to everyone who commented last chapter. All the feedback and your thoughtful responses really spurred me on to keep writing and get this next chapter up sooner, rather than later. 
> 
> Sorry this chapter was so long, but it seemed like there was a lot to cover even though there wasn't that much action and I was having a hard time bringing it to an end. 
> 
> Hope that it didn't bore you too much. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	7. Dark Spaces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, "Thank you!" to all my responders last chapter. I was amazed by all the feedback. I can't believe this story has garnered almost 200 kudos too! I never expected such an overwhelmingly positive response. You guys are awesome!
> 
> Second, I want to warn you, this chapter got even longer than the last one. (See what happens when you tell me not to worry about length.) 
> 
> I also want to warn you that this chapter took a different turn than I expected and that the first part of it contains content that might disturb even more than what has already gone on. It made me very uncomfortable to write it, actually, and I am still unresolved as to whether I should leave it as it is, or go back in and soften it. ]
> 
> It's is also a very internal chapter for both Dean and Castiel. But I promise, that's not going to continue in the same way, and as things move forward from here there will be more action.

The front door closed with a bang.

“Oh, come on, Bobby. I told you before you can’t keep spoiling her like that.” Sam shook his head in exasperation as he settled his book-laden backpack on the floor.

Dean looked up from where he laid on the couch next to Bobby. There was a towel underneath his hugely distended belly to keep his eight swollen teats from leaking and further-ruining the already stained sofa.

Bobby ignored Sam; his eyes fixed where _Dr. Sexy_ flickered on the TV. “Your dad called this morning after you left. He finished his hunt. He and Adam should be getting back here any time now.”

Frustrated that neither Bobby nor his bitch had responded to his reprimand, Sam redirected his attention specifically at Dean.

“Get down, Dean! You know you’re not allowed on the couch.”

Rather than mind, Dean stayed where he was, head on Bobby’s thigh. Nuzzling it over further, he gave a soft lick and then rebelliously started mouthing Bobby’s limp, spent cock from where it poked out of his open fly.

Oil-stained fingers ran rough but tender through dark-blond hair.

“You should give your bitch a break, Sam. I let Dean up here because his little hellions wouldn’t leave him alone. Poor thing was miserable. ‘Cept for the one, they should have been weaned a month ago.”

“Bobby, you know Dean’s pups are special. They _all_ need to nurse as long as they can to be healthy.”

Just as Sam said “pups” the flap of the dog door sounded at the back of the house where the yard had been enclosed. In a minute, the front room was a flurry of paws and five, huge puppies of varying colors bounded into the room. Sam ignored the chaotic wiggling around his feet, eyes going to where one pup was nosing one of two crumb-covered plates on the coffee table.

“And you fed her pie. _Again_?”

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Bobby snapped back, his voice stern but not angry. “You shouldn’t begrudge Dean his pie. Between the pups inside him and the ones at his tits, he needs the calories.” Underscoring his assertion he ran a hand down the protruding ribs on Dean’s side, their prominence incongruent with his ballooned belly.

Sam pulled a bitch face of his own, not happy with Bobby telling him how to handle his pet. But he couldn’t complain too much. Not when the man was taking care of Dean and his puppies while he was at school. Sam’s expression shifted, however, and he lit up when the runt of Dean’s current litter scampered late into the room.

“Hey, Jessie! How’s my girl?”

Despite his sweet, sing-song greeting, rather than go to Sam, the little, naked blond, who looked to be about six, despite the fact she was only three months, made a beeline for the couch. She crawled over and pushed her upper body up onto the cushions. Latching onto one of Dean’s red, teeth-marked tits, she began to vigorously suckle.

Dean growled low around Bobby’s cock and one of his docked hands gave a half-hearted push to dislodge her. His stumped fingers pressed against a tan, dust-streaked shoulder, but his bald-bitch pup set her small teeth into his flesh. The pull when her body shifted turned Dean’s grumbling into a pained whine.

“Let Jess nurse, Bitch.” Sam’s voice had lost the petulant tone it held before and was full of dark command now.

Jessie was his favorite so far out of all of Dean’s litters. She was also the first girl of Dean’s bald-pups. His other three litters, now long-sold off, had each yielded a boy in addition to its furry brothers and sisters.

Sam stepped around the coffee table and over the other puppies rolling about on the floor. Once beside Jess, he leaned down to pet her long, tangled mane. The second he reached out his hand, Dean dropped Bobby’s cock. He turned and bared his teeth, rumbling deep in his chest. It was enough to make Sam hesitate.

Bobby laughed. “Looks like Jess isn’t just your favorite, Sam.”

Sam frowned at being teased. Meanwhile, he picked up a magazine off the cluttered coffee table, rolled it tightly, and struck Dean in the face with it. His bitch yelped at the strength of the smack.

The noise and the jerk of her dam’s pup-heavy body made Jess drop the teat in her mouth. She skittered away from the couch and hid behind a ratty armchair. Her brothers and sisters all stilled, eyes sharp, watching the commotion.

Bobby sighed and tucked his slobbery cock back into his jeans before standing. Meanwhile, Sam grabbed Dean by the bangs, his bitch’s still-tearing eyes shut tight. The hand, not holding Dean, picked the bitted muzzle up off the coffee table and all but slammed it into his gasping mouth.

“What do you think you're doing? First you don't mind, and then you think you can get away with snarling at me?” Sam’s voice was low and dangerous. He pulled his fingers out of Dean’s hair none too gently, slipping the muzzle’s straps through their buckles, cinching them tight enough to pinch.

“Hey, Sam… Take it easy!” Bobby picked the pie-stained plates up. “No need to punish him for being protective of his babies. It’s instinct.”

Ignoring Bobby, Sam bodily hauled Dean off the couch by his collar. “I’m her master. What I want, what _I_ tell her to do, should come first. She knows that!”

The second he was released, stomach throwing him off balance, Dean stumbled away from the couch and Sam’s anger.

“This is what happens when you spoil her, Bobby. She forgets her place and has to be reminded.”

No sooner was Dean on the floor than the canine stillness that had descended broke and his fuzzy offspring swarmed around him. In a matter of seconds, they had toppled him on his back. Eager mouths gruffed and snapped as they fought with each other over the best nipples.

His belly was so big it was hard to breathe under the weight, but Dean knew Sam wouldn’t interfere with a nursing, so he lay there and submitted to his children. He winced as sharp teeth worried him. New tears added to the ones that glistened on his purpling cheek when the rough-and-tumble over his milk made the pups in his gut kick out in protest.

As soon as Bobby headed to the kitchen, out of earshot, Sam shot him a hard glare.

“Dad says I get to keep one from this bunch; so you better get used to me touching your little bald-bitch pup. Maybe I’ll keep her and finally sell you to Richards after you pop. If he’ll still have you. By the time you shit out that litter, fast as she’s maturing, Jess should be almost ripe by then.”

“It might be nice to have a new bitch. One that will, no doubt, behave a hell of a lot better.”

After saying this, Sam turned his back on Dean. With a smirk on his face he ambled into the kitchen and came back a moment later with a clean plate holding big slice of pie, so full of fruit it wept cherries. Hazel eyes fixed on Dean once more; Sam swirled a long finger through the pooling syrup. After putting his plate on the coffee table, he brushed the milk-soggy towel aside and settled himself in the same spot his bitch had so recently been forced to vacate.

“Hey sweetheart, come on out now,” he cooed.

Wide blue eyes slowly peeked around the edge of the chair. Sam’s smile grew. “There’s my darlin’ baby bitch… Come here, sweetie.”

Sam wiggled his syrupy digit at the hiding pup, beckoning. Dean’s bald-dog pups, in addition to their incredibly accelerated growth the first year of life, seemed to be much more sensitive and tender than their canine-looking siblings. Jess sniffed the air softly and then, still wary, padded slowly over on hands and knees. She brushed the tip of his finger with her nose. Her small pink tongue poked out a moment later.

“Good girl.”

Sam’s voice choked slightly when the pup pulled his whole finger into her mouth and began to suck on it. He interupted her  suckling just long enough to reach over and pull a cherry out from his slice to feed her. Meanwhile his other hand snuck around towards her backside as she continued to lick. When Jess' sharp eyes caught the motion of Sam's sneaky hand nearing her nethers the baby bitch squeaked and tried to pull away.

“Stay, Jess.” He switched hands, offering the pup his new cherry-stained fingers while the now-clean one slipped under the thin leather collar around her delicate neck.

“Hey, Ash!”

Dean moaned as the tawny, gray-eyed pup raised his head, trying to take the nipple in his mouth with him. A shaggy head cocked. There was no denying Dean’s “normal” pups were extraordinarily intelligent.

"Come here buddy." Ash left his siblings and trotted over."Give your sister here a kiss."

It only took him a second to figure out what Sam wanted. Ash wasted no time pressing his pink tongue to his littermate's fruit-sweetened lips. Sam held Jess firm when she began to whine and wiggle, as her brother industriously licked her.

"Come on Jessie. Kiss your brother back like a good bitch and I'll let you go."

Around her brother's industrious tongue, Jess looked doubtfully up at her owner. Then she slowly opened her mouth. Ash licked the insides of her mouth immediately in search of more cherry flavor.

Dean turned his face away from the sight of Sam holding his innocent, baby girl in place. His ears burned with the sounds of his owner soothing as he gave Jess her first lesson in how her to be "good" and take whatever attentions future studs would offer.

Suddenly, Dean hoped that Sam really would get rid of him. Send him anyplace rather than stay here.

It had killed a part of his soul, watching his bald-dog sons sold off. Well, all of his children actually. But while he wondered and worried what was happening to them, Sam hadn’t treated his human-looking boys any different growing up then the rest of their siblings.

Seeing him with Jess right now tough, it seemed somehow worse than the unknowing of his other babies final fates to think he’d have to watch his innocent, pup-minded daughter’s future unfurl in the hands of this particular monster.

Despite the muzzle, Dean growled and heaved himself shakily upwards. His feeding pups huffed with annoyance but he butted his head into furry shoulders and sides pushing them off as he rolled and pulled himself up. He started to stalk over, though it was really more of an awkward lumber, belly hanging so low his still-dripping tits almost brushed the ground.

He pushed against Sam’s knee, growl growing louder. It worked, at least in part: the sound stopped Ash in his tracks. The second the pup looked up and into his dam’s eyes, he immediately skuttled backwards, away from his sister.

Sam, however, used his free hand to slap at Dean. “Back off, Bitch!”

Dean knew he was in for a world of hurt, but he didn’t care any longer. He put his great belly’s weight to work for him and slammed into Sam’s leg hard, roaring behind the bit.

Sam dropped Jess’ collar. “What the Fuck!”

The instant Sam’s hold was loosed; the blond pup darted back behind the chair again. Ash understood now that what he’d been doing had, for some reason, made his dam mad. He slunk over to his sister, putting his body between her and his mother and master. Jess immediately nudged up and buried her head into his shoulder.

This all happened in a matter of seconds, but Sam reacted immediately. “I’ve had enough of your shit, Dean!” Before he was fully aware of what he was doing, he let go of his smarting knee. His foot lashed out, catching Dean full in the side, sending him careening into the coffee table.

The punch of the edge made Dean cry out. He felt something tear within him as he toppled over, upending the table.

Bobby rushed out of the kitchen. “What the hell’s going on out here?”

Sam was already on his feet. Dean lay on floor, his breath coming in heavy gasps. Across the room four puppies scrabbled after Sam’s strewn pie.

“Bitch tried to get up on the couch again, lost her balance, and fell.”

Through his tears, Dean shot a look at Bobby, wanting him to call Sam out on the obvious lie. Not that it would make his world any different: the damage had already been done. He whined as his gut seized with a stunning contraction.

Dean shook his muzzled head and closed his eyes. He wasn’t due for a month yet. Another spasm tore through him before the first had even fully released. Immediately Bobby was at his side, kneeling.

“Fuck, Sam! He’s bleeding.”

As soon as he said this Dean registered the warm, wet, leaking between his thighs. He cringed with the realization and the sudden slam of the front door.

“Hey boys, I’m back. Hell of a hunt!”

Dean opened his eyes just wide enough to watch John set his bags down. The moment the scene before him registered, John’s weary expression darkened.

“What the fuck’s going on here?”

“Bobby let Dean up on the couch and he fell off. He’s bleeding!”

“God, Sam, I sometimes think Dean’s not the real bitch here,” Bobby growled under his breath. “You know Bobby can do what he wants with her, Sam. Stupid cunt shouldn’t be so clumsy.” John cast cold eyes over their pup. “Christ! I go from one shit-storm to another. Can’t even catch a minute to relax!

“Put the pups outside and get some blankets. Sam, call vet Tran and let him know we’re coming. I’ll go get Adam out of the trunk and we’ll take Dean over and have him take a look at her. She better not lose that litter.

“Hear that, Bitch? Those pups are all already spoken for.”

A new wave of pain rushed through Dean, its edge so keen he could hardly follow what was being said over him. A flurry of activity erupted as Sam shepherded the pups out of the room, all except Jess who refuse to come out from behind the chair.

As soon as Sam was gone, Dean’s bald pup scampered over to him.

“You keep your mama company while I go grab some blankets.” Bobby heaved himself up from the floor.

Jess whimpered and paced around Dean. Then she stopped and he felt her small, hot tongue slick over his cheek, licking away his tears.

The door opened and swung closed again a few moments later. “Get your ass in here, Adam. Damn, you sulk even more than Sam.”

Dean heard the drag of chain on the wood floor and an unhappy whimper. He clamped his teeth down on the bit in his mouth, biting back the scream that scorched his throat as a rush of fluid gushed out from his hole. When the grip of this newest contraction finally loosened, Dean opened his eyes again.

Whining anxiously, Jess moved to sniff at his nethers. Not wanting her to see what was going on down there, even if he knew she wouldn’t understand it, Dean growled in warning. She immediately popped back up, to lick at his mouth and nuzzle at his chin.

Looking into her worried blue eyes was too much. Dean turned his head only for his gaze to fall on Adam. His half-brother sat trembling right where John had dumped him inside the door. He took in the docked hands, the ball-less, caged cock all but hidden under the boy’s swelling belly.

Their gazes met and the vacant terror in Adam’s eyes tore Dean even more than the new,  knife-blade sharp contraction that made his body curl in on itself. He shook with sobs as he was overtaken with the pain, not just from the pups he was in the process of losing but all the others he’d failed to save, to protect.

Adam, Jess, his other litters, even Sam.

His body shuddered and his eyes closed as he felt a small body, too hot, too soon, and far too still, slide from him. Trapped behind the muzzle, Dean howled in anguish.

* * *

 

The howl was still caught in his throat when Dean’s eyes popped open.

Caught in twisted sheets, he fought to rise. Struggling on to all fours, his sides heaving, he could hardly stay upright he was trembling so hard. His clothes were soaked through with sweat. One hand unconsciously went to cover his flat stomach as his wild eyes darted around the room.

Dean pulled in a shuddering gasp of breath when his surroundings finally registered. Bright light filled the spare, clean space. Framed birds soared over the walls.

He was at the ranch. Castiel and Benny were out working with the sheep. Gabriel gone to the city. He wasn’t at Bobby’s. There was no bald-pup, baby girl Jess. No litters at all.

_Yet._

Dean pushed the word aside, refusing to acknowledge it. Instead his mind went back to the dream. It had seemed so real it was terrifying. He collapsed back down onto the mattress amidst damp sheets. He closed his eyes only to find the nightmare replaying in a ceaseless loop behind his closed lids.

_It was just a dream. It wasn’t real._

Dean repeated these words like a mantra.

Then he pictured Adam again. What Sam and John had done to his half-brother in the dream, the look on Adam's face. A choked sob escaped him. Suddenly Dean was glad he was on his own today. He’d been nervous about it earlier, but this breakdown wasn’t something he wanted either of his new keepers to witness.

Though John and Sam talked about Adam as a pup out on the road, John had only had him for a few months and really hadn’t even collared the boy yet. Instead he’d been breaking him down slowly, taking him apart.

Dean was all too familiar with how John worked. He knew well the sick fear and the gratitude that came after being isolated and abandoned and the lengths a person would go to not to feel that again. That was one of the reasons they’d locked Adam up, left him behind, for the Pit breeding.

With this thought, he couldn’t hold back anymore and tears began to roll down his sunken cheeks. He really hadn’t intended to abandon Adam either, but over the last few days he had actively tried to keep his half-brother out of his mind, just like the “other thing.” At least until he'd _"regrouped,_ " he'd told himself.

And now he’d been on Castiel’s ranch for a week and still hadn’t done anything. That it had been the most amazing week of his life he could remember, or at least the four days of it he'd been conscious for, only increased Dean’s guilt about his lack of action.

He wished he could blame his lapse on the fact he was still reeling from the strangeness of it all. And it was strange, because though he kept waiting for it, no one had yet tried to fuck him or hurt him. And Dean honestly couldn’t recall the last time in years he’d had a full day without either of those things- let alone four in a row.

He hadn’t been caged, or muzzled, plugged, or sounded either. And Castiel had allowed him to keep sleeping on the bed. Had even told him that this was his room; which he still didn’t understand since he was never locked in, the door always left slightly ajar.

While he still hadn’t met Gabriel yet, the guy had a lot of “errands” to run apparently, Benny and Castiel had been nothing short of angelic in how they treated him. Dean hadn't known anything like it since his mom died.

Sure they touched him, but not in “those ways.” And even if it pained him a little bit sometimes at first, it was nothing like how he’d been handled. When they tended to him, in the end, he found he always felt better after.

They talked so gently to him too, even when he couldn’t do what they asked. Like Benny, when he’d stopped in this morning.

He’d placed a rubber ball in one of his hands after he’d removed the IV and taken off the splints, he'd asked him to squeeze it. Seeing the ball had frozen Dean at first, conjuring past punishing hours of “fetch” with John and Sam, but his hesitation hadn’t gotten him in trouble. There wasn’t even any yelling at him for not being able to execute an order. Hell, in fact, when he’d tried to squeeze the ball and only the tips of his fingers had twitched, Benny had even grinned at him and said he’d done good.

_And then there was Castiel…_

So quiet and calm. It made Dean super uneasy at first. Partly since Sam often seemed mellow like that when he dealt with him, said sweet things, pretended he was being kind. It was what made his erratic treatment so much harder to take than John’s steady sadism and consistent harshness. But unlike Sam, in the four days since he’d awakened in this room for the first time, with Castiel, Dean had never known such truly gentle attention.

Sure, the guy was a little odd and watched him constantly when he was present.

 _Not watched… Watched over,_ Dean corrected himself. Sam _watched_ , but Castiel _watched over_.

There was a huge difference there and he felt it acutely. There wasn’t any of Sam’s dark lust or the terrifying hunger in Castiel’s intense unblinking gaze. What it was, he couldn’t quite decipher yet, but it no longer unnerved him.

At least not as much as it had initially.

Plus, so far Castiel had made sure that he’d never felt hungry or thirsty. Dean had never even had to ask to go to out yet; he’d been taken to the bathroom so regularly. And there were the non-invasive wipe-downs with warm, wet cloths and clean, soft clothes and fresh sheets every day, sometimes more than once.

It hurt sometimes, because Dean knew he didn’t deserve any of this.

His shame-flushed cheeks grew hotter; having to admit to himself it had just felt so incredible to be really taken care of, worthy or not, he had been avoiding thoughts about Adam. Because he knew the minute he did anything to try and help the boy, this remarkable world he’d found himself in would no doubt come to an abrupt end.

_Selfish, selfish bitch… Never thinking about what anybody else needs. No loyalty to anyone but yourself._

John’s voice whipped through his battered mind, and Dean felt the heat within him increase again as his shame became molten.

_Let Adam take your licks, huh? While you’re lying around living the high-life._

Sam’s voice chimed in, taunting. _Or maybe, despite what you’re telling yourself, you actually want to see him hurt… Maybe you like that; maybe you’re not so different than us, Dean.”_

It was true, when he'd first met Adam he’d hated the kid. Hated how the boy’s face looked when John first introduced them, after he’d been forced to stay locked in his bunker kennel for two weeks-straight while John’s “new son” settled in.

He’d hated too that Adam had been graced with a “normal” life before being handed over to John; that he got to have his mom until he was twelve, losing her to a quiet death of cancer, instead of having her incinerated by a demon at four.

A dark flower of conviction bloomed in Dean’s gut and he suddenly felt sick. Images of all the things Sam and John could have done to their newest captive while he’d been relishing this quiet comfort flashed in his mind. Before he could stop it, his stomach twisted and he vomited his last protein shake, splattering the sheets beneath him.

When his guts finally stopped hitching Dean looked at the mess he’d made, horrified.

All the kind thoughts he’d had about his new keepers fled and all he could think about being punished for such a transgression. He tried to arrange the sheets with his damaged hands to cover it up, but it only made matters worse.

Dean panicked. He needed to get out, to hide.

_This is why you should be on the floor, Bitch. Can’t trust you not to make a mess of things, bed or boys, it doesn’t matter._

Frantic eyes fell on the door that led into the hallway. The thought of leaving his room only made his terror worse. The bathroom wasn’t an option either: caught there, the option of waterboarding as punishment was far too easy. Before he knew fully what was even doing, his body propelled him across the floor at a scrambling crawl.

The door to the closet stood cracked. Dean pushed it open further and slipped inside. It took him a moment to slide the door closed with his useless hands, another minute to realize that he was standing on a pile of blankets.

Instinctively he burrowed under them, the weight immediately soothing, the darkness too. It was a little like the Impala’s trunk, though much more roomy and fresh smelling.

The trunk had been a place of terror at first, but he’d never been really hurt while he was in it. And, though he’d been stuck in there sorely hurting, usually it signaled that the worst of the pain was over. As a result, over the two years he’d been bitched, the trunk was often kind of comforting when he was inside.

It was when the lid opened he’d actually come to fear the most.

_Fucking coward. Hiding. You see why you’re a bitch, Dean? A man faces his fate head on, not running away. Flash your tail and the world will fuck it. But you know all about that, don’t you._

Dean curled up tighter beneath the quilts, wishing he could truly hide, if not from Benny and Castiel, then at least from John’s voice.

The warmth of the quilts began to seep in through his sweat-chilled clothes. Soon only his fear trembled him. Trying to silence the noise inside, Dean listened outwards instead. Setting his focus on the cadence of his ragged breaths worked to calm him a little, but in the end, mind was inexorably pulled back to Adam.

So he’d hated the boy at first, it was natural. The kid got to walk around like a human while he had to crawl on the floor like a mutt. And while he’d loathed the sickened sadness in Adam’s eyes as Sam and John had begun to show him how they used him, he’d soon found out that he despised even more watching how they had begun using Adam too.

_I’m not like you._

In the quiet dark of the closet, Dean whispered these words softer than a breath. His whole body tensed waiting for a thunderbolt to strike him and he was actually surprised when a long minute passed and it didn’t.

Dean knew it wasn’t right, what John and Sam were doing to Adam and he had done what he could to try and divert, ramping up his attentions to his owners. It was the same thing he’d done as a kid, allowing John to do more stuff to him hoping that it would keep his dad from going after Sam. And it had worked for a while.

Now that he was gone though…

_Fuck…_

Dean lay his head down and pressed into the soft blankets.

_I’m not like you._

He knew he couldn’t ignore the situation any more, and he sure as hell didn’t want any more dreams like that. He closed his eyes exhausted, overwhelmed, and with no idea at all how to proceed.

Or maybe he did have one.

The first day he was fully awake, Castiel had asked him if there was anyone he needed call. Someone who would be relieved to know he was alive, even if he couldn’t go back to them yet. At the time he’d just shaken his head; worried with how Castiel stared at him that somehow he’d given the wrong answer.

His mind returned to the dream again and Bobby’s part in it. Real Bobby had never been like that.

So maybe there was someone he could call, someone who could help him. Even if Bobby hadn’t even seemed to notice or be bothered to give a shit when his self-declared “nephew” had just dropped off the planet.

Dean had often wondered if Bobby had any idea of what John had been doing to him. While the grooming had started not long after they hit the road, when the full fucking started at the age of ten, John had always threatened a death worse than what a hundred demons could devise if he ever told anyone about their “special hunter training.”

So, even after he understood what it was John was really doing to him, Dean had done his damnedest to keep it a secret. Who wouldn't? It was shameful and he'd been so stupid. 

So would Bobby believe him now, if he called him and told him what was going on with John… and Sam?

_You have to be actually talking to people to call him, Bitch…_

Dean’s stomach clenched and he felt queasy again at the prospect. He knew couldn't manage any more than the four words he’d so recently whispered. Certainly not to a real person.

_Besides what if Bobby doesn’t believe me and calls John?_

The things John and Sam would do to Adam then… To him once they caught him again. To Benny and Castiel too for taking him in. Before he could put any more worry into this, Dean’s ears caught the sound of light tapping and the door to the room creaked softly open.

Thoughts of saving Adam took a backseat to whoever was coming in and how he would react to the mess he’d made. Dean pressed himself as tight against the wall as he could and ducked his head under the quilts. His heart jackrabbited in his chest.

* * *

 

It had been a difficult morning for Castiel. Even though he knew Benny had checked on Dean a few hours ago, leaving the kid really alone for the first time since he’d regained consciousness had been undeniably hard.

But the ranch wasn’t going to tend itself.

He and Benny had been spelling each other, but there was only so much extra Castiel felt okay asking his right hand to do. Gabriel had offered to help too, but then Michael had called and sent him to the city the day before Dean woke up for “family business.” He’d becoming back tomorrow, the outing a trial run to see if things had settled down enough after his last antics. If it worked out, Gabriel would soon be going back to Denver more permanently.

A light frown flitted over Castiel’s features when he realized he was actually kind of looking forward to Gabriel coming back. He told himself it was because he’d given him a list of supplies they needed, not that with this new “Dean” situation he was comforted by his older brother’s annoying company.

He stepped into the quiet house. He’d left the door to Dean’s room open a bit to give the boy some privacy but also to indicate he could come out.

He had told Dean as much, however, he’d doubted the kid would feel all that exploratory. Benny said that would be maybe months before Dean would be walking on his own. He was still so weak from all the abuse he’d suffered, just taking him to the bathroom and then back to bed was enough to exhaust him.

Dean’s physical condition was just one of the reasons Castiel didn’t want to leave him alone for too long, even though the kid had nodded when asked last night if he’d be okay on his own.

It was as much communication as the teen seemed capable of doing and while he didn’t want to push, Castiel had to admit he was going crazy with all the questions he had running through his head. He still couldn’t believe after he’d offered to make a call for him that Dean had no one he wanted to reach out to.

How this indicated Dean believed no one was missing him worried Castiel. The thought that possibly no one was, astounded.

Benny had said that maybe Dean was feeling too ashamed of what had happened to want anyone he’d been close to, to know. Castiel understood this reasoning completely. Awful as it was, he almost hoped that was the case, because he had considered the option too that, perhaps, it had been Dean’s own people who had done this to him. While Castiel understood this as well, the very thought of it filled him with a dangerous rage.

Whoever it was that had held Dean before, they had broken the boy so completely. And yet still the kid had managed not only to survive but to find the courage to escape. Castiel was convinced of this now. The whole thing made him want to pry open up his own ribcage and tuck Dean inside next to his heart.

_Is that weird?_

The way his mind framed things often disconcerted other people. That’s why he tended to stick to animals: he could tell them anything and they never looked at him twice.

Before he entered Dean’s room, Castiel gave a light, single-fingered tap to the door to alert him to his arrival. He had a poor understanding of “personal space” too at times, that’s what he’d been told anyways over the years, so he was trying very hard to be mindful.

It was another reason he was willing to leave the boy, given how he’d been "hovering", he imagined Dean might very likely relish some alone time.

Opening the door after his quiet knock, the first thing that caught Castiel’s attention when he entered was the acrid smell of vomit. Then he saw the tangled sheets. Moving over to the empty bed he could see immediately that Dean had tried to arrange them to hide the mess.

The sight broke his heart for the boy just a little bit more.

His gaze drifted to the bathroom.

_Empty._

For a moment Castiel’s heartbeat picked up its pace. Then he noticed the door to the closet was now fully-closed. Despite how his instincts goaded him to fling the panel back and make sure Dean was okay, he offered his same one-fingered tap to the closet door.

“Dean, I saw you got sick. I want you to know that it is no problem to change the sheets. You are not in any trouble. Okay?”

Castiel didn’t expect an answer, but he’d found Dean responded best when he knew where he stood and what was going to happen, and he didn’t want to stress the boy any more than he had to.

“I am going to open the door now. I just want to check and make sure you are alright. I am not going to come in and I am not going to try and pull you out. As long as you are not in danger, you can stay in there as long as you want to.”

After waiting thirty seconds or so for Dean to process what he’d said, Castiel slid the closet door slowly open. When this revealed a Dean-sized lump under the blankets he exhaled a breath of relief. But the tension in his chest didn’t release, he was too disquieted by the lump’s quaking.

Sinking down to his knees Castiel settled himself on the floor outside the closet. “Dean?” He kept his voice soft, tone mild, but nothing happened.

“Hey, Buddy…” He winced at how awkward his attempt to be fraternal sounded. Benny always made such exchanges seem so natural. Ignoring the heat in his cheeks Castiel continued, “I want to change out the sheets and get your room aired out, but I need to make sure you are okay first.”

There was a long still minute, but then Castiel caught a minute shift in the tremble of the fabric. “Again, Dean, you do not have to come out completely, but if I could see you just for a few seconds, I would feel greatly relieved.”

The corner of Castiel’s mouth quirked when he heard a soft huff in response to his words and the blankets began to rustle. Dean emerged slowly. The tiny curl of smile slipped from his lips when he saw the boy: the wan face looked even more haunted than usual.

Fearful, overlarge, green eyes gazed back at him before slipping to the side in a manner that suggested guilt of some sort. It was a habit Dean had that Castiel had observed often already. A little more of the blankets fell away and he noted the sweat-dark bangs, the dampness of the stained tee-shirt Dean wore, hanging heavy on his shoulders.

But that wasn’t all he saw.

 _Such pain should never look so beautiful_.

Castiel suddenly wanted more than anything to see Dean’s presently ravaged beauty translated through happiness. Now it was his turn to drop his eyes. While he was used to the strangeness of his thoughts, this one brought a new burst of heat in his cheeks.

He cleared his throat. “You look like you might have a fever again. May I check, Dean?” Cautiously, he stretched his open hand into the closet’s dim interior.

From his place within his nest, Dean drew back and tensed. But after a moment when Castiel remained still, his hand out but unmoving, he relaxed a bit. His narrowed eyes widened when he realized what Castiel meant.

Though his face remained averted, Castiel could feel Dean’s struggle and his desire to trust. Just at the moment his shoulder started to burn, a warm, damp forehead pressed into his palm. Castiel held his breath. When Dean didn’t immediately pull back he allowed their touch to linger just a few more seconds than necessary. Castiel broke their contact first, withdrawing his hand slowly.

“So, no fever then.” He gave a pleased nod. “Is your stomach hurting?”

Dean shook his head “no.”

While the dream had woken him with a twist in his gut and he had felt sick earlier, he didn’t feel ill any more.  His relief that Castiel really didn’t seem mad that he’d made a mess in the bed left him feeling better still, outweighing his embarrassment at getting sick in the first place.

Castiel stared at him in that funny way he had, his head tipped to the side like a bird. Then he nodded again and got up. Dean felt his anxiety spike when the man left the room. He stayed in the closet but drew closer to the opening. Castiel returned a moment later with an armload of clean sheets.

Leaning against the sidewall of the closet, Dean watched as he cleaned up his mess and opened the windows. There was no anger visible in any of the man’s movements. It was so different than Sam’s huffing and stomping about or John’s raging.

Castiel was acutely aware of his spectator and made sure not to move too quickly. After getting rid of the soiled linens he pulled some fresh clothes from a low dresser. Then he turned back to Dean.

“Nice in there?”

Dean blinked at the question. He nodded before looking away. It was nice, not just the closet, but all of this, the quiet room, Castiel being here, strange as he was.

"I would not tell just anyone this, but I used to camp out in my closet  when I was stressed until I was sixteen. It was the only place my brothers wouldn't bother me."

_Yep, strange._

Dean winced when Castiel glanced over at him after making this disclosure. He was almost sure he'd heard his thoughts. If he did though, he didn't show it. Castiel set the clothes down on the room’s single chair.

“I am going to text Benny and let him know you were sick.”

Slowly pulling an old flip phone from his pocket, Castiel noted the way Dean’s head dipped at the words. “It is no trouble, Dean. And since he is looking after you medically, he will want to know.”

Dean lifted his head slightly, amazed again that Castiel seemed to know what he had been thinking. He watched Castiel navigate his phone’s slow texting. If he hadn’t been so wrung out, he would have found the scene kind of amusing.

Castiel noted how Dean watched him. A dozen different emotions flitted over his pale face. There was something warring inside the boy. Finished with his message he didn’t put his phone away immediately. Dean’s eyes stayed fixed on it. They widened when he held it out in offering.

“Is there someone you want to text, Dean? I know you said no to calling before but maybe now you have had a few days?... And you wouldn't need to talk”

Inside Castiel cursed himself for not thinking about this option sooner, it made so much sense since Dean wasn’t verbal. And he knew Dean could read. He’d seen the boy perusing the backflaps of the books he left in the room while he sat with him. He’d watched covertly absorbing the comic books Benny left too.

New fear flashed across Dean’s face and he shrunk back into the closet. His gaze however didn’t waver from the phone.

“Tell you what. Given your state, I think today is a good day for you to try out the bathtub. We agree the closet is nice, but I bet a warm bath would feel even better.” Castiel stepped closer to the closet again. “You need to get out of those wet clothes anyways. So, I am going to go start it and you can just rest a bit while I do.”

Dean’s chest tightened further at the mention of a bath and his face must have shown it because Castiel added. “You can go back into the closet if you want to after.”

As if to underscore the merit of his suggestion a small breeze stole in through the cracked window and stirred the room. Dean was suddenly acutely aware of the scents Castiel carried: earth and animals and good, clean sweat. The contrast of this with his own stink of fear and sick made him blush and drop his head at last. As much as he was fearful of what might happen with this new “bath” development, he nodded.

Without looking up, he heard Castiel moving around the room and then into the bathroom. It wasn’t until he caught the sound water running he lifted his head again.

Dean's eyes began to sting when he saw what Castiel had set down just outside the closet. There was a sports bottle filled with fresh water. Castiel had started using these instead of glasses with him as soon as he realized they were easier and way less messy to navigate with his damaged hands.

And next to the bottle...

His cell phone, flipped open and on. Dean picked it up, trying not to fumble it too badly the way his wrapped hands shook. He still had some good motion in his thumbs, so he could probably send a message no more awkwardly than Castiel had.

Did he dare text Bobby? And if he didn’t, who else could possibly help Adam?

Dean glanced sideways at the open door of the bathroom. If he did contact Bobby, it would end up involving his benefactors, no doubt. His chest ached suddenly wondering if Castiel and Benny would feel as inclined towards kindness, once they learned that this stowaway had let himself be so pampered while someone else was in danger, likely being irreparably damaged.

A soiled bed might not be enough to make Castiel hate him and want to hurt him, but this other... The tears that seemed ever on the surface of his eyes these days began to flow again.

Dean’s thumb hung over the cell’s buttons. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, holding back the sob that choked in his throat. He tasted copper and his lip burned, but this pain was nothing compared to what he felt knowing he had to do something and that no matter what happened, one way or another, once he hit send, he was going to lose this little sliver of peace he so wanted to savor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope I didn't lose too many readers with this chapter. 
> 
> Also, I tried to effectively communicate the dissonance Dean is experiencing: expecting himself to immediately be able to jump back into soldier/savior mode when he's still so broken physically and mentally. I don't know if I accomplished this or not, but in keeping with his character, I tried to show his expectations of himself and what is realistic for him to do, given the situation, are very much at odds.
> 
> Next chapter will hold more tender moments and get us all caught up on the other players in this game. Hopefully answering many of the questions you had last chapter about John, Sam, and Richards.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Washed Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the dream sequence in the last chapter seemed to throw some readers off. To make it up to you, here's a chapter of comfort. It's shorter than the last two chapters, but then I hadn't planned to write this scene before. You can blame/thank LillianeDeMalvrier who left a comment saying she/he was looking forward to Dean and Cas bath time and once I read that, my mind wouldn't leave it alone. So instead of plot development, you're getting a chapter full of bubbles.

He’d done it: sent his first feeler out to Bobby. Now all he had to do was wait and see what happened.

Sliding deeper into the tub, exhausted, Dean sighed.

_If he even responds._

Whether he did or didn’t, both possibilities brought a new twist to his gut. A wave of nausea surged within him again. Leaning back, the sensation of his shoulders pressed against the solid porcelain grounded him and after a minute of deep breathing, the feeling passed. It helped too that after emerging from the closet, Castiel had given him another dose of anti-anxiety meds.

Dean exhaled slowly, feeling the pill kicking in at last. His increasingly heavy lids slipped closed.

Drifting, he was all but asleep until his nodding head dipped. He started when bubbles tickled his chin. Looking out over the expanse of foam before him, broken only by the jut of bent knees, he gave a sleepy snort and shook his head. If someone had told him last week that Sam and John’s bitch would be reclining in scented, steaming waters like some kind of princess and, even more, that he’d be soaking this treatment up like a sponge…

_I can’t believe Castiel… what kind of guy makes another dude a fucking bubblebath?…_

Not that he planned to spend too much time on the question: the water was the perfect temperature, not freezing or scalding like he was used to. Closing his eyes again, Dean tried to push everything from his troubled mind and just focus on how good this felt.

What’s more, once Castiel had drawn the bath, outside unwrapping his hands, he’d let Dean get undressed and into the tub on his own. It had been quite the struggle, but he’d made it. This simple accomplishment had filled him with a surprising moment of pride, at least, before his internal voices snuffed it out, reminding him of how small a victory this actually was.

_I’ll get better though._

Dean challenged the voices inside him to argue but the medication seemed to be rendering them wonderfully silent. Beneath the bubbles he focused on flexing his fingers and wiggling his thumbs. Benny had mentioned teaching him some other exercises too to help him get his mobility back.

He was determined to put the same energy into these as he had all John’s hunter training. As much as he was able to, anyways. Whatever the future held, he wanted to be ready for it. Plus, he had no intention of staying a cripple, nor did he plan to burden his new keepers any more than he absolutely had to.

 _And someday I’ll be on my own,_ he promised himself.

As liberating as it seemed, the thought made something flutter uncomfortably within Dean’s chest. His whole life, while he’d often felt lonely, he’d never really been alone. Even when John was gone, for better or worse there’d always been Sam around.

At the thought of his brother, Dean shifted in the tub, suddenly feeling sick again but in a way that had nothing to do with his stomach. The movement, slight as it was, left him grimacing at the sensation of the warm water seeping inside him, filling him where his abused ass still gaped. Almost a week without his tail, but his muscles had been so stretched after months of constant plugging they hadn’t yet recovered.

Experimentally he clenched his hole and winced at the deep ache. There were probably exercises he could do to get back in shape here as well. Hopefully though, Benny wouldn’t feel the need to go over _that_ particular physical therapy with him, even if the guy seemed to be able to talk about the most embarrassing stuff without getting flustered.

Pink flushed Dean’s cheeks, recalling how clinically Benny had explained to him that morning, that due to the rectal damage he had, he’d need to keep wearing those stupid, old-people Huggies for a while. He’d also had a long talk with him about the possibility of requiring an enema now and again, despite his current liquid diet. At least until his digestive system got back on track.

Through all this Benny hadn’t seemed uncomfortable at all, keeping his usual, easy manner. It was the same when the guy had to check on how he was healing… _down there_. He kept his touch to a minimum, explaining the what’s and why’s throughout.

Like these times, today’s earlier conversation had been mortifying, but Benny hadn’t acted disgusted or been shaming about it at all. Dean appreciated this more than he’d ever be able to express (even if he’d been talking). He was equally relieved well as by the explanations of how things would go for a while. He felt calmer knowing what to expect.

Unhappy as all these details about his bodily functions made him it made sense too. He’d gotten so used to Sam cleaning him out every day; he’d almost forgotten what it was like to take a shit on his own.

Such a simple thing, and to think he’d had no control over it for literally years. His chest tightened and he could feel the voices in his head start to murmur. Rather than focus on these things, however, he forced himself to grab onto what he could do himself, here in the moment.

Tipping his head back against the rim of the tub, he listened to Castiel puttering around in the next room. While the man had left the door open in case he needed help, so far Castiel had left him alone. It was nice, this little freedom. Tired as he was, Dean figured he’d better make the most of it. Using one of his thumbs, he gathered the washcloth set out on the edge of the tub for him. His other caught the soap and despite how heavy his limbs felt, he began awkwardly, carefully, washing himself.

Out in the bedroom, Castiel had stripped out of his over-shirt down to just his tee. It was surprising how warm the house felt after being outdoors in the still-cool spring air.

Dean’s bed was made now and he had just finished changing out all the quilts in the teen’s closet nest. He’d gathered a few new supplies too, for when Dean was ready to be settled again. While his ears remained alert for any sounds of distress from the bathroom; Castiel’s eyes glanced to his cell phone, now shut, and still on the floor. Moving over, he reached for it. Despite the sudden pang of guilt, he flipped it open and got into the text function.

Big brother Michael was on the paranoid side. Of course, in his business this had proved to be an asset. Michael had most all the family phones, his included, tied into some sort of system so their calls couldn’t be easily traced or monitored. This was one reason Castiel wasn’t too worried about any message Dean might have sent. The other was that though his own first name was uncommon, he and Benny hadn’t given their last names, and outside “ranch” and “Colorado” they’d offered little detail about their base.

But Castiel was curious if Dean had sent a message and who it would be to. He told himself that part of his reason for snooping was that if he knew; it might help him get the boy back to family and people who could better care for him.

There was an odd twist in his chest at this thought. He tamped it down as best he could and with a few quick taps he found himself staring at Dean’s message. He’d ask Gabriel to trace the number later.

He was glad Dean hadn’t erased his communication, but reading it, a larger part of Castiel was perplexed. Where he expected words, there was just a seemingly random jumble of letters, symbols, and numbers… nothing that made any sense. It caused him to wonder both about the fragile state of Dean’s mind and what the person on the other end of the line would think when he or she received it.

A splash from the bathroom caught Castiel’s ears diverting his attention away from the garbled message. He flipped his phone shut and set it on the nightstand.

A light tap on the open bathroom door sounded and Dean looked up. A concerned blue gaze met his own as Castiel peeked in.

“You doing okay there?”

Dean frowned. He’d dropped the soap and was having a hell of a time retrieving it with his uncooperative hands.

Though he wasn’t usually big on smiles, it was hard for Castiel not to grin. He’d put the bubbles in the tub to assure Dean’s privacy but even as world-worn as he was, the kid looked pretty darn cute sitting there amidst the foam. With a shake of his dark head, Castiel tried to dislodge this thought, knowing that he needed to be careful, for both of them.

“May I come in?”

Dean hesitated before giving a frustrated huff and a nod. Moving over slowly Castiel stepped in and sank down beside the tub. Dean dropped his eyes and hunched over slightly.

“May I help?”

Castiel waited patiently watching Dean battle within himself. The boy looked so tired. Castiel’s brow furrowed: this close he could see the lines still etched across the bridge of Dean’s nose and his pale freckled cheeks where the muzzle had so long chafed against tender flesh.

The impulse to reach out and try to gently rub these marks from the boy’s skin hit Castiel hard. The desire wasn’t sexual but it still unnerved him. He curled his hands into fists, fighting the urge. His restraint was rewarded when Dean finally passed his washcloth over. He took it, carefully but his hand caught Dean’s for a moment in the exchange. He felt the boy stiffen as he turned it over, palm up.

“Getting pretty wrinkled there.”

Surprised that this was what Castiel chose to comment on rather than his thin, clawed fingers or the softened scabs where there used to be dead flesh, some of the tension left Dean’s shoulders. He chanced a small shrug in response.

“Did you get yourself squared away?”

Despite how awkward it had been, Dean thought he’d done a pretty okay job, so he nodded.

Castiel looked at the bottle of shampoo he’d set out and realized that he’d need to get something that was easier for Dean to manage with his injured hands. “Hair washed too?”

Dean’s hesitation was enough of an answer.

“I will do that for you, then. Tip your head back just a bit.”

Fear sparked in Dean’s eyes and Castiel realized that baring his throat in such a way might be asking too much of right now.

“Or forward if you like.”

While it still made him uncomfortable, this felt much more manageable to Dean. He dipped his head down. He watched from under thick lashes as Castiel dipped the washcloth into the water and then wrung it out over the top of his head wetting his hair.

Around all the dripping he continued to warily track Castiel. The man picked up the bottle of shampoo and squirted a bit into his hands. The smell was rich and spicey… none of that herbal, hippie shit Sam liked or the cheap, chemical scent of hotel freebies. And it sure wasn’t the flea shampoo John preferred to use on him that burned like hell.

His eyes snapped shut and he couldn’t hold back the groan that rumbled in his throat when strong fingers carefully slipped into his hair and began gently massaging.

Above Dean, Castiel felt something warm unfurl within him at the sound. He made sure to keep his movements slow, as he rubbed. Benny often teased him about his “magic hands,” the way he could turn a tense dog or a frightened sheep into a blissed out puddle of contentment after just a few minutes of this kind of touch.

Castiel was pleased that despite his damage, Dean didn’t seem to be too different in this. He wondered how long it had been since anyone had touched the boy with anything like tenderness. His fingers drifted down to the nape of Dean’s neck where the hot water had turned the marks left behind from his collar a bright red.

_If I ever catch who did this…_

Blissfully unaware of the storm clouds in the blue eyes above him, Dean swore to himself it must have been the pill Castiel gave him, because as much as he wanted to be cautious, he just couldn’t keep himself from getting lost in the sensation of having his hair washed. No one had ever tended him like this; not since he was a baby and his mom was still alive. It was all he could do not to press up into Castiel’s hands and he almost felt like crying when the gentle fingers finally left him.

He listened behind closed lids as Castiel dipped the cloth in the water again. He expected it to be wrung out over his head to rinse him. Dean shivered when it pressed softly against his shoulder instead. He tensed initially as Castiel began to rub over his back.

Just like when he washed his hair, the touch was slow and purposeful. Dean was suddenly, acutely aware of just how many aches his back held. He exhaled a deep breath as Castiel methodically worked out one knot after the other. Dean was also conscious of the fact the man made sure that it was only the cloth that touched his skin.

Rather than dare to dip down beneath the thinning bubbles to locate the missing soap, Castiel had added a little shampoo to the cloth. Dean reveled in the slick lather and noted that the wonderful touch stopped just above his waist. Then he found the cloth pressed back into one of his hands

“I am going to drain the tub and rinse you off with the shower. That work okay for you, Dean?”

Dean’s head felt almost too heavy to move, but he managed to nod.

Castiel rose. After setting the tub to drain he grabbed the removable showerhead and turned it on. He made sure the temperature felt comfortable before he aimed it at Dean. “Too hot?”

Castiel was careful with how he held the nozzle and Dean thought it was nice not to feel like he was being drowned, which had been his usual experience. He made a soft noise of contentment as the water sluiced over him. Then the skilled fingers found their way into his bangs again, making sure that all the soap was out.

As the water drained, Dean settled the cloth over his groin, hiding his lack. He fidgeted a bit, feeling a light spark there from Castiel’s touch. It made him suddenly anxious. He’d had his cock caged for so long he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten hard. He didn’t even know without balls now if he even could.

John’s voice, though lighter than usual, rumbled through his head.

_What are you thinking about, Bitch? A bitch’s clit isn’t for touching, not for fucking either. No, a bitch is just a hole to be used for the pleasure of her stud. Don’t tell me that after all the work Sam and I spent driving this into you, you’re forgetting your lessons already, Dean…_

While the stirrings were mild, Dean was instantly terrified of how Castiel might react to it if he did accidentally get an erection. Fortunately, the man seemed to pick up on his change in energy and took his hand away. After another few minutes under the spray, the water stopped and seconds later a fluffy towel was wrapped around his shoulders.

“I am going to go get your clothes.”

Once Castiel left the bathroom, a much relieved Dean rallied and tried to get himself out of the tub on his own. However, it was a lot harder to get out than in: he and the tub were both slick and the heat of water seemed to have sapped any remaining strength from his limbs.

After a few slippery starts, he was still in the bath when Castiel returned. Setting the fresh clothes he carried on the vanity Castiel turned back to Dean with an expectant look on his face.

A blush heated Dean’s already flushed skin and he dropped his eyes away with a soft sigh of annoyance. He pushed the washcloth still over his groin away and slipped the towel off his shoulders to drape across his waist.

Castiel nodded in approval. “Okay, I am going to lift you out now.”

Dean wrapped lean arms around Castiel’s neck as stronger arms carefully settled around him and lifted. One arm shifted to dip behind his knees and carry him over the tub’s rim. A few seconds later, he found himself settled on the ring of the toilet.

He winced feeling the liquid that had gathered inside him leak out, it sounded loud to his ears as it dripped into the water below him. If Castiel heard this, he didn’t show it, just kept silent as he took up a fresh towel and worked on drying him off.

Once satisfied with the job he helped Dean into a soft, clean tee-shirt.

Dean was too exhausted now to do anything but comply. He watched with hazy eyes as Castiel knelt and slipped his feet through the leg holes of what was essentially an adult pullup, sweats came next. Castiel pulled both of these as high on Dean’s thighs as he could with the boy sitting and then left off to grab a pair of thick, fuzzy socks for his feet.

It amazed Dean how soothing it was- the sense of security that each bit of this cloth armor added. He was still stunned too by how exceeding gentle Castiel was: it seemed surreal to have this rugged, handsome guy kneeling to put socks on him, a stranger he knew nothing about, a broken bitch.

With Castiel’s head down, attention focused on his feet, Dean couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering over the expanse of broad shoulders. His head tipped just slightly to the side, however as his gaze continued to drift.

Where his wet arms had clasped Castiel, water had soaked into the fabric rendering the thin, white tee-shirt he wore almost translucent. Beneath the fabric Dean could see heavy, dark lines. They extended and peeked out from under Castiel's short sleeves. Dean quickly realized that what he was looking at were the tips of black feathers. Tracing these back again beneath the fabric it looked like the man had a tattoo that covered the full span of his shoulders.

It struck Dean as odd: even though he barely knew the guy, Castiel hardly seemed to him like the “tattoo type.” He was broken from his thoughts when the dark head lifted to look at him again.

“You need to pee, Dean?”

Dean was embarrassed by the question, despite how mild Castiel’s voice was. His cheeks grew even hotter when his body responded to the words as though it was a command and his bladder, which suddenly felt surprisingly full, released.

_Good Dean, obedient bitch…_

Before pissing had gotten so painful, he’d been like that for Sam and John. Although John never asked if he had to go, just told him he had to. Fortunately, Castiel didn’t stand over him watching like his previous keepers did. He just let Dean piss while he got out an electric razor and fixed up a toothbrush for after he’d finished.

Ten minutes later found Dean (no less embarrassed) being piggy-backed into the bedroom on a strong back. Even so, he was feeling much better overall. All traces of his nightmare and of being sick had been physically eradicated; he’d been washed, dressed, shaved, and had a mouth full of mint.

It was pretty fucking wonderful, even if he was being carried around by a guy who was shorter than he was.

So tired by all this activity now, not to mention the meds, that he could barely keep his eyes open, despite all his best intentions not to, Dean couldn’t help but lay his head against the top of Castiel’s shoulder. He was almost asleep when the gravel of Castiel’s voice roused him.

“Bed or closet, Dean?”

A breath huffed against Castiel’s neck that he read as “I’m too tired to care, just let me sleep.”

Given this, he stepped over to the bed and backed up to it. In the open spot where the rest of the covers had been pulled down, Castiel gently deposited Dean atop fresh sheets.

As much as it was obvious Dean only wanted to settle in, Castiel still made him drink some water to wash down a couple analgesic and part of a vanilla protein shake. Once this was done, he finally allowed Dean to snuggle down into the soft pillows before he pulled the covers up over his shoulders.

“I am going to leave the windows open. The fresh air will be good for you.”

Dean made no move in response to this assertion, but internally, he had to admit, the soft scent of pine and earth and the way the cool breeze occasionally brushed past while he was cocooned in the blankets was pretty blissful.

“I brought this in to keep you company too.” Castiel flipped a switch and an older-looking radio now occupying the nightstand crackled to life. The volume was low but the sounds of country music welled out and filled the quiet room. “That station to your liking, Dean?”

Seeing the small crease in Dean’s brow, Castiel began to fumble with the tuner. “Used to be, we did not get much reception up here, but then my brother put in a tower.” The keen blue gaze fixed on the exhausted teen until a flicker in Dean’s sleepy gaze told him he’d hit the right station.

Dark eyebrows rose. “Huh… I would not have figured you for a metal man.”

Castiel felt something in his heart crack wide open when this comment pulled a small, unconscious smile from Dean. He cleared his throat, trying to swallow the uncomfortable lump that had lodged there.

He left the radio and picked up his cell phone. Dean’s eyes were all but closed now, but they slitted just a bit wider as Castiel set the phone down on the bed next to one of his still-un-bandaged hands.

“Benny will be up in an hour or two. He will wrap your hands back up and get you some lunch then. In the meantime, if you get sick again or have any problems at all, Dean, use my phone to text him. He is number one on my speed dial.”

If he hadn’t been watching so intently, Castiel could have easily missed the tiny shift that Dean offered as a nod. With tremendous effort the boy stretched his arm out to rest one of his curled hands atop the phone.

While he knew that he needed to get back to Benny and the sheep, Castiel couldn’t make himself leave until he was sure that Dean was sleeping comfortably. When Dean’s breathing finally deepened and evened out, only then did he go.

With Dean distracted by fresh dreams and Castiel with Dean, neither had noticed that while they were finishing Dean’s bath a new text had come in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will have Richards, the dark Winchesters, Adam and Bobby too, along with the return of Gabriel and some more Dean, Cas and Benny. I have it already started and if work doesn't kick my ass through the weekend like it has been, you might get another chapter before Sunday is over. 
> 
> I'm not too proud to throw in here that good feedback eggs me on. And my many thanks to those of you who wrote to me last chapter. You all rock!


	9. At Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an amazing response to the last chapter. I was overwhelmed. And since you were all so great about leaving feedback, how could I not reward that with another installation?
> 
> So, here it is. I am sorry to say that I had to cut it off without getting back to Dean, Cas, Benny and Gabriel. But this means you'll get a whole chapter of them next and in the meantime here's what's going on with all the rest of the crew. And I am working on this next chapter already. So hopefully you won't have to wait too long.

Within the plush leather of his chair, Richards shifted. At his stirring, the twin Great Danes that lay in the patch of sun streaming in from one of his home office’s large windows lifted their heads almost simultaneously. Seeing that their master wasn’t truly inclined to rise, however, within moments both returned to their dozing.

Normally cool eyes glanced at the time on his open laptop. His assistant should be calling any second to announce Zachariah’s arrival.

It had been a week since he’d given the man his assignment. He had told his “specialist” not to bother him until he had results and last night Zachariah had finally called him.

The man had been maddeningly evasive with his information, but they were meeting in person today and now Richards could hardly wait. His feigned patience from the night of the fight was long gone and he wanted to expedite his new acquisition badly. Richards couldn’t remember the last time anything had caught and held his attention like Winchesters’ bitch had. The second his intercom buzzed, he reached for it.

“Sir, your eleven o’clock appointment is here.”

“Send him in, Simon.”

The heavy mahogany doors swung open. Zachariah strode in without out waiting for Simon to announce him.

Richards just nodded at his nervous assistant. He gave a hand signal to the Danes, one of which had made a soft “gruff” and started to rise. At the silent command it settled again almost immediately, but both dogs were alert now, carefully watching master and visitor.

Zachariah strode over to the front of the desk. After waiting for the doors to close before speaking, never one to waste time, Richards immediately jumped in.

“So, where is she?” I thought you’d be arriving with my bitch today. You had a whole week, after all.”

“I’m afraid it’s not going to be that easy, Sir. The situation is unfortunately complicated”

If it hadn’t been so heavily Botoxed, Richards’ brow would have furrowed. “What do you mean, _complicated_? I order; you execute… When did _that_ become complex?”

Setting the briefcase he carried atop the polished wood of the desk, seconds after the titanium clasps clicked, Zachariah passed over an i-pad and a thick file folder.

For the moment, Richards laid these to the side. He nodded for Zachariah to take a seat in one of the plush chairs behind him. Clearly more comfortable with standing, Zachariah hesitated before doing so. He settled at last on the edge of his seat, his briefcase placed just to side of his feet.

“I’ll read all this later.” Light eyes flickered towards the gathered materials for the briefest of seconds. Fingers tapped the top of the file, acknowledging its thickness. “I can see you have been more than thorough, Zac. But you know I always like to hear things firsthand when I can.”

Seeing his boss’ impatient nod, Zachariah overlooked the annoying abbreviation of his name and started the debriefing.

“Following the tracking pattern, the micro-bug in the business card indicated Rocky’s Roadhouse, about an hour outside Lincoln. It was the only place the Winchester’s stopped for any length before they called you. They lost their bitch there.

“Dean escaped, Sir.”

Though his forehead remained ever-still, the disbelief in Richard’s eyes was obvious. Zachariah continued.

“For such a dump they kept discreet cameras on the front and back lots. Simple timed loops that recycle every twenty-four hours. The owners had problems with fights in the past and installed them for liability issues and to help the police.”

As Zachariah gestured to it, Richards picked up the i-pad.

“I commandeered the security footage. Said I was FBI, tracking a kidnapping. Spun a story about a kid who’d gotten caught up with some bad company. Drug dealers he owed money to, holding him for ransom, indications of torture, etc. Once I told the night manager I had evidence the kidnappers stopped there and flipped a badge, she was more than helpful.”

A certain smugness slipped into Zachariah’s tone. He met Richards’ gaze as it flickered up at him. “You can watch the whole thing on the tablet. Resolution’s not the greatest. Cheap cameras.

“Fortunately the manager’s office, where they kept the monitors had been empty that whole night. Business had been brisk and everyone was needed out on the floor. So, I was the first to see it.”

In an instant, Richards had the device on and the recording rolling. Zachariah could see his employer was only half listening now. Hungry eyes devoured the images filling the screen.

The black and white video was grainy. The position of the camera and the car kept Dean hidden when the lid of the trunk was open initially. But not long after the Winchesters went inside, Richards watched his future bitch tumble out of the Impala’s trunk and reel about the lot like a broken windup-toy until he climbed into the trailer.

A small smile curled Richards thin lips. “Bitch is a scrapper, isn’t she. When I saw her after the fights, Zac, I would have sworn it’d be a week, at least, before she was able to even crawl again.”

“Well, he…” Zachariah hesitated seeing the flash of annoyance on his employer’s face and corrected himself. “She used to be a hunter. An able one, from what I gathered. He… er… ” His face twitched before he was fully able to cover his disgust, “She’s also John Winchester’s… offspring.”

“I know.”

Zachariah was not the only one who’d done some research, Richards had found out the same thing with a little digging. From what he’d learned from his darkside contacts, Dean had not just been a hunter, but had a reputation for being effective, vicious even, when it was merited. By the time he was high school age, in fact, he’d racked up quite a body count, so to speak.

Then two years ago he’d disappeared. No one on Richard’s side of the equation had bothered to question why. Most had merely thought someone on their "team" had finally bested him and were thankful the little bugger was gone.

He knew now though both what had happened to Dean, and the fact that apparently John had carried on this way with his two sons without anyone in the hunter network knowing it. Or, while it was highly unlike their particular crazed code of ethics, if a few hunters did know, they’d made no move to stop it.

Either way, Richards hadn’t yet been able to determine was what sort of betrayal Dean Winchester had committed to earn such a fate. Not that it really mattered that much to him in the end. His real interest in this was more curiosity than concern: it was wise to know as much as possible about a prospective pet’s behavior before acquiring it. Having a finger on any pup’s propensities made training so much easier

His eyes narrowed watching the trailer in the video pull away with his new pet in it. He looked up at Zachariah expectantly.

“I showed that last bit to the manager. Made her quite upset.” Recalling her distress Zachariah bit back a grin. He cleared his throat. “She said the trailer guy wasn’t a regular. Couldn’t read the plates either, but he paid with a credit card. Showed me the ticket.

“The name on the card was Castiel Novak.”

At the name, Richards snorted. He knew the name “Novak” far too well.

 _But there is no way…_ _Not even their territory_ … Gazing at Zachariah, however, the man’s expression told him different.

“You’re not going to tell me…”

“I am.” Zachariah’s expression was deadly serious. “Castiel Novak is part of _the_ Novak clan.”

Color rushed into Richard’s cheeks. He’d been dealing with the Novaks for years as he’d expanded his empire. While they each controlled regional drug markets in different states, that didn’t mean they hadn’t crossed paths in the past. Yes, his group and the Novak’s _Fallen Angels_ had engaged in skirmishes more than once. Fewer recently.

Nowhere near the loose-cannon his insane father had been, Michael Novak, the FA’s current captain, was a brilliant chemist and a smart businessman, and more inclined to nonviolent conflict resolution. Of course these things didn’t mean he wasn’t also still dangerous.

Richards cast his mind down a list of more than half a dozen of Novak “brothers” he’d heard of.

“I thought I knew most of the Angels’ cabinet, but I’ve never heard of Castiel.”

“He’s managing one of the family fronts, has been for a while. A ranch in Colorado. That’s where your pet is now. But before that, this Castiel guy was out of the game for a time. He did five years, _hard_.”

“Prison?” That caught Richards’ attention.

Zachariah nodded to the file. “Went in young. Nineteen. Got caught up in a bad bust with one of his brothers. From what I gathered things didn’t go well for him while he was in. Messed him up considerably. He was paroled early. Spent a year in a mental hospital after he was released.

“So, the family keeps him pretty much on the down low now.”

It appeared to Richards there was more than what Zachariah was telling him. Allowing a moment of silence between them, his man soon filled in the gap.

“Well, actually they kept him off the radar before that too. Bit of a black sheep. The guy’s different, Sir. Asperger’s or something along that spectrum. And he’s gay which didn’t endear him to his old man any. Michael pulled him onto the FA’s crew only after their patriarch kicked it. It’s all in my report.”

Richard’s eyed the thick file with new interest. “So out of all the vehicles in the world, you’re telling me my new bitch ended up in a Novak’s trailer?”

Zachariah nodded.

A twist of cold fear suddenly gripped Richards’ gut when he considered Castiel Novak might have killed Dean when he discovered him. Maybe this was what Zachariah was really here to tell him. It would have been in keeping with the violence of some of the FA family members… But then a dead bitch wouldn’t really be “complicated.” Far from it, in fact.

“So what happened when Novak found her? Is my pet still kicking?”

“I wasn’t there to know what happened, of course, Sir. Or what er… _her_ present state might be. But once I’d tracked your pet to Castiel, I staked out the ranch as best I could for a few days.”

Seeing his employer’s irritated expression Zachariah grumbled, “It’s a huge spread and the main buildings are tucked in quite a ways. Not easy to get to unobserved. Plus, Castiel keeps a fair number of working dogs and there are usually several loose on the property.”

“You know all about how territorial dogs can get, Sir.”

As if to underscore this assertion, one of the Danes had decided this conference had gone on long enough. It rose and slowly ambled over beside the desk, where it plopped down with a sigh. After looking longingly at its master for a moment, it turned and settled its massive head atop crossed forepaws, fixing an unblinking and slightly irritated gaze on Zachariah. Its stare soon had the man shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

Paying no attention to this dynamic, one of Richards’ manicured fingers clicked the replay on the video as he watched his lost pup climb out of the Impala and crawl into the trailer again. His expression was neutral, but inside he raged at himself for not simply grabbing Dean after the fight. His propensity for caution had done him a disservice.

Well, that wasn’t going to happen again.

“So this Castiel keeps dogs. Do you think he’s keeping my bitch too then?”

Rather than answer with a simple “yes” or “no,” Zachariah supplied, “Gabriel Novak was also at the ranch when I arrived.”

 _Above all the odds…_ Richards growled at the magnitude of his bad luck at the mention of Gabriel. “Fucking troublemaker…” he muttered under his breath. “What the hell is he doing out of Denver?”

Used to these kinds of exclamations from his employer, Zachariah ignored the comment.

“Visiting family maybe?” Zachariah’s sudden smirk fell when he saw his boss didn’t appreciate his attempt at humor. “He’s back in Denver now and I’ll ask my contacts to see what they’ve heard. Anyway, while he was there, I trailed him. He left the ranch the day after I got there. Made several trips into town later too, not the closest one mind you…

“Following the supplies that he acquired… A wheelchair, for instance, along with some other medical items… new clothes of a certain size… etc. These all indicate the likelihood that these two Novak boys have taken your Dean in and are tending hi...her.”

“And if I am correct in this, like I said… It makes the situation complicated.”

Richards’ stopped the looping video. He zoomed in on his beautiful, bound bitch huddled against the side of Novak’s pickup. He traced his finger over the screen, following the curve of Dean's naked back before finally casting his eyes on the thick folder once more.

Messing with the Novak’s could result in a blood bath. Then again, he’d been looking to move some of his business into Colorado; so if he took out some players it might open up some room for expansion. Gabriel’s territory in Denver held particular appeal.

Though maybe violence wasn’t necessary.

He wondered how much any of the Novaks would really care about some random, messed up kid they barely knew. Given the condition the bitch was in, she’d need a hell of a lot of care. Far more than most “normal” people would want to invest, let alone a couple mentally unstable drug dealers.

While this Castiel was a wild card, Gabriel’s short attention span was legendary. His hand reached out for the folder. He’d peruse it. Maybe there were some clues in here about how to approach the two brothers and convince them to turn Dean over. If they were smart they’d be grateful to get rid of the bitch.

And if they weren’t, maybe he could just go over their heads to Michael. While this route would have to be handled very carefully, Michael Novak knew had always been one to take advantage of a good deal when he saw it.

Either way, having seen the escape and learning the bitch’s history, pupped or not, Richards realized now just how remarkable Dean truly was. And as long as the Winchester bitch was alive, the only acceptable place for her was at his feet. Richards knew he wasn’t going to be able to rest until he had Dean tied tight to the end of his leash.

“Well, I’m going to look over this information.” Shifting his eyes once more, Richards met his “fixers” deep set gaze.

“In the meantime… Zachariah, I want you to get someone into that ranch and get me some concrete details about my bitch and the truth of her situation. Along these lines, the rest of your new mission is to un-complicate things. I want her _here_ ; where she belongs.

“And I don’t care how long or what it takes.”

* * *

Sam was miserable.

He poked listlessly at the chicken salad sitting on the table in front of him, appetite gone. He itched inside and out and everything felt raw.

He knew he needed a fix badly. It had been a week without Dean and this absence, along with his other craving, had him all but crawling out of his skin. He’d spent half the morning jacking off to the videos from Dean’s last breeding, but it was no substitute for his bitch.

He missed being able to touch his pet whenever and however he wanted. He ached for Dean’s mouth, his pup’s fucked out ass. Hell, he even missed his usually grumbled-about rituals of Dean’s daily maintenance.

“Eat your lunch, Sam. Addy went to a lot of trouble to make it special for you.”

Lifting his head and gazing across the table, Sam fought to keep the scowl off of his face. The man who sat there glaring at him was another reason he missed Dean. The familial comfort Sam got when he and his dad fucked their pet together had evaporated. He’d always know their bitch was a buffer, but he hadn’t realized just how much until Dean was truly gone.

And right now they should be out looking for her, not sitting there scarfing down some mediocre meal John’s brat had made. Dean was out there, alone, maybe hurting and likely pregnant. It pissed Sam off even more that his dad didn’t seem to care or even really be missing their pup that much at all.

“I said, eat, Sam!”

John pushed his own empty plate away and leaned back in his chair. He patted his stomach and a moment later exhaled a long a satisfied groan. “Kid’s a fucking good cook. Hey, Addy, go get your daddy a piece of that cake you baked, will you, Sweetie.”

Sounds of shuffling came from where Adam knelt on the floor next to his father's chair. A moment later a disheveled blond head appeared over the edge of the table. Adam rose stiffly, wiping the back of his hand over a ever tear-stained cheek. He kept his eyes on the floor and remained quiet as he limped into the kitchen. The twelve-year old was naked, except for an apron. Keeping the kid bare was one of John's strategies for deterring escape, though out in the boonies of the bunker, there'd be no one to see Adam anyways.

John had tied a big, pink bow for decoration around Adam's slender neck to match the tie of the apron. It made Sam think his father had changed his mind about getting another pup and was taking a different route with Adam, seeking to create a different kind of “bitch” this time.

When Adam had been left alone, once he’d realized there was no way for him to escape, he put all his energy into cleaning the bunker. Sam had never seen anyplace he’d lived so spotless. But he’d seen right away what Adam was doing, even if his dad refused to… The kid was terrified of being bitched like Dean had, so he was trying to show how valuable he could be otherwise.

 _Little suck up,_ Sam thought bitterly.

As he watched Adam go, he could clearly see the dark bruises on the boy’s pale butt cheeks, peeking out around the apron's bow. John had disciplined him severely a couple days ago. Sam didn’t pity the kid at all. Even if he hadn’t disliked Adam so much, the brat had gotten way out of line and he’d deserved it.

When they’d returned without Dean, after a couple calm days, once their father had picked back up on the kid’s training Adam had lost it. The boy had even gone as far as to accuse both him and John of killing Dean off and leaving his body to rot somewhere.

_Yelling that we’re “sick” and being a rebellious little shit. Not minding at all. Dean never behaved like that._

Sam supposed he might have felt a little softer about his half-brother if his dad let him participate at all in Adam’s discipline or his new training, but since they’d returned, John wasn’t sharing.

Not one bit.

Tearing his eyes away from Adam’s little boy ass, Sam adjusted his miserable erection, longing for Dean's. All he wanted right now was to be dismissed, get to his room and his stash, so he could shoot up and watch Dean's movies while he masturbated. Catching John glaring at him, he took a reluctant bite of his lunch. Around a full mouth, he muttered, “I’m going to call Ash again.”

Across the table John shook his head. “You’re wasting your time, Sam. He already told us those plates were a dead end.”

Sam gritted his teeth at how final his dad’s voice sounded. It just wasn’t fair.

They’d gone back to the roadhouse but it was obvious from the reception they’d gotten that Richards had sent someone out, just like he’d said he would. Whoever got there before them made sure the staff didn’t want to offer them any information at all, even with John’s false badge. And Sam was certain the cops that pulled them over fifteen minutes after they’d left the parking lot hadn’t been random either. Made him super thankful his dad had them stow the video stuff and Dean’s gear in the hidden compartment as soon he’d emerged from Rocky’s, anticipating something like that might happen.

But while John might have kept them from getting arrested, it was Sam who’d had the idea to flash their blacklight over the gravel. Fuck ectoplasm, he knew just how much Dean dripped and leaked fluids after a show even with his plugs. Still, it had made him sick with betrayal seeing the obvious flight pattern their bitch left scattered around the gravel.

His dad had yet to let him live that down, especially after all his earlier assurances that Dean wouldn’t run.

It was the blood that had given them their biggest clue, however. The amount freaked Sam out at first, until he saw all the broken glass and realized Dean must have cut himself scampering around. It was fortunate actually. Made the trail easier to see and where it stopped, he remembered the trailer.

They’d told Ash they were after a fleeing witch who’d killed a bunch of kids, had him hack into the cameras on the traffic lights nearest the roadhouse. When the visible plates came up as fakes, Ash had been still been able to build the truck’s path, using other traffic cameras just past the border into Colorado. Then he’d lost the trail.

“Well, we need to do something,” Sam stabbed at his salad viciously to underline his frustration.

Seeing Adam approach with his cake, John ignored this display. “Come here, sweetheart.” No sooner had Adam set the plate down than John pulled the boy into his lap. Adam winced as his tender ass made contact with lean thighs. John ignored the pained whimper.

“I think I want a little extra sugar with my cake.” Leering into wide, terrified blue eyes he grabbed the front of Adam’s apron and pulled the squirming boy to him tighter.

Across the table, Sam fidgeted just about as much as Adam, watching his father grab the back of the blond’s head to hold him as he began to pepper the exposed skin of Adam's neck with biting kisses. This display of betrayal made Sam neauseous. He knew his dad hadn’t fucked his half-brother yet, but it wasn’t going to be long now.

When Adam wiggled, resisting, a quick, sharp slap to his bruised backside stilled him in an instant.

“Settle, you hear me!”

“Yes..”

“Yes, what?” John growled in response to Adam’s sobbed reply.

“Yes… Daddy.”

Sam felt both his blood and his gorge rise, hearing the boy cry out when John clutched Adam firm with one hand and used the other to pinch and twist a tiny, pink nipple. Even as it made new heat pump into his cock, it struck Sam as somehow wrong. His dad shouldn’t be doing that with anyone but Dean.

Not wanting to watch the display any longer, he pushed himself away from the table.

“Samuel!” John broke off his kiss and the nipple torture long enough bark out. “I told you to eat your lunch! Don’t go hurting Addy’s feelings.”

Hearing Adam sniffle and seeing the welling purple around his tit, Sam thought the boy’s feelings were probably pretty low on the list of things his half-brother was currently concerned about having hurt. Rather than say this though, he simply pulled his chair back in and shoveled down the largest part of his salad in a couple huge forkfuls, hardly chewing.

John watched Sam’s antics, his expression growing darker by the second. He kept his hand wound tight into the back of Adam’s blond head as he pushed the boy’s head down to his shoulder and under his jaw, the appearance of this created a cruel parody of comforting.

Adam submitted, holding still while John’s other hand slipped under the apron to rub trembling thighs.

“Sam, you need to get a hold of yourself, boy.”

Having reached his limit, Sam swallowed hard and slammed his fists on the table. Mouth still half-full, food flew out as he yelled. “I WANT DEAN BACK!”

His outburst made Adam jump, and the boy really did turn into John’s shoulder now at the roughness in Sam’s adolescent voice. John however, had anticipated something and so, remained still as a stone.

The anger in his eyes softened, slightly. “Look, Sammy, I know you miss your pup.”

That his dad’s voice bordered on something that could almost be called “tender” stopped Sam’s frenzy in an instant.

“I’ve been thinking. We’ve been watching the news… no story at all has popped up about someone finding our bitch. And those media fuckers are all over stories like that these days. No cops have come calling after us either. Think about it, Sam. If someone had found Dean, surely there would have been something.”

“Unless they decided to keep him for themselves,” Sam mumbled miserably. It happened all the time, a dog got lost, someone else found it: dog got new home, finder got new pet.

“Yeah, there’s that…” John acknowledged. “But our pup’s special and you know it. It takes just the right kind of person to be willing to keep a pet like ours.”

Sam wiped the tears of frustration away that blurred his vision. He sniffed. Yeah, he could see that.

“No… I don’t think anyone has our girl. I figure Dean’s loose out there. Probably got in that trailer and out the next time it stopped. Yeah, what I think is that our pup just wanted to run a bit. Remember how she used to do that Sammy? Before we took her in hand.”

While he didn’t have the same confidence that Dean would be that mobile after a bitching and not with all his gear on, Sam didn’t want to lose the camaraderie of the moment. Long hair fell over his eyes as he nodded. If he set the other factors aside, it was easy to remember that Dean had been a scamp, and it was his running away that made them have to collar him.

He lifted his head to see John push Adam off his lap. Once he realized he was being set free from John’s grasp, the boy scrambled to get away.

“Take the dishes with you, Addy. You can come back for this one in a couple minutes.”

The soft, “Yes, Daddy,” Adam gave in response made John beam.

John pulled his cake to him and picked up his fork while Adam scurried to gather the dishes. The boy reached for Sam’s carefully as though fearful Sam might grab him next. Sam shot his half-brother a look of " _as if_ " before turning his attention back to his dad.

As soon as Adam left the room, John speared a big forkful of cake. He hummed pleasurably and swallowed. “Yeah, Addy’s a good cook and keeps house better than you or Dean ever did.”

While Sam wanted to counter that Adam had twelve years with a mom to show him how to properly look after things, he kept his mouth closed. But the warmth he’d been sharing with his dad evaporated anyways and unease gripped his guts again as John continued.

“Yup, make a good little mama, Addy will. Been a long time since I had the comforts of a wife. A man misses that sort of thing, Sam.”

Sam snapped back, “Kind of like you miss your pup?”

John’s eyes glowed dark as he met Sam’s gaze. “But back to what I was saying… No one’s reported finding our bitch. She’s a tricky one… Look at the shit she pulled back at the roadhouse.”

Sam flushed red at having Dean’s betrayal brought up again, and his stupidity.

“But she’s a bitch, Sam. We trained her good. She’s never going to be able to really make it on her own now. That’s not in a bitch’s true nature. She’s learned to crave her master’s hand, her studs’ cocks. Sooner or later she’s going to get tired of having to take care of herself. Especially if she’s really pupped like you think.

“Yeah, she’s going to need help with that spell one way or another and if she’s not smart enough to come crawling back to where she belongs, she’ll go close. Of that I have no doubt.”

Uncertainity niggled at the back of Sam’s mind, but his dad sounded so sure, and he really wanted to believe it. “So where will she go, then?”

John looked at him like he was stupid and when the answered flashed in Sam’s mind, he felt correctly imbecilic.

“Bobby.”

John’s grin was chocolate stained as he raised his last bite and forked it into his mouth.

“Exactly.”

“In fact, I think I’ll go give my old friend a call right now. Might even merit a little road trip.”

For the first since he saw the empty trunk, hope welled in Sam’s chest. He felt so good suddenly he didn’t even balk when his dad pushed his empty plate over and told him to go help Adam with the dishes.

Nearing the kitchen, plate in hand, Sam’s ears caught the patter of bare feet. When he entered Adam was at the sink but it was obvious the kid had been eavesdropping. The thought of Adam crashing in on his time with his dad when he was supposed to doing the dishes made him furious. He moved quickly over and dropped the plate in the sink, forcing Adam to step back as hot water spattered his largely bare skin.

Adam stared up at him, eyes wide. “What’s your problem?” His voice was shaky but still had that bit of snarky edge to it that grated on Sam’s nerves.

“Hear anything interesting?” Sam spat the question even as his large hand reached out and grabbed the front of the too large-apron. Fisting the fabric Sam’s knuckles scraped across Adam’s bruised nipple.

Recoiling away, tears instantly rolled down Adam’s blotchy cheeks. For a moment it looked like he might crumble under the angry weight of Sam’s gaze but then all of a sudden he straightened; face contorted with disgust and rage.

“Yeah. What I heard is that you two perverts are fucking delusional,” Adam hissed. “Dean was half-dead already when you hauled him off. If he did run away from you, I doubt he’d even have lasted an hour before he keeled over.

“You could have helped him… just like you could be helping me. But instead he’s probably gathering flies in a ditch somewhere … If he’s lucky, that is…” Seeing the shock in Sam’s eyes, Adam pushed further. “Dying would be kinder than what you fucks did to him. And if he’s not dead, I hope to God he finds some way to tell the cops and they come here. Cause you both belong in prison, getting fucked up the ass hundred times a day!”

Sam was so stunned by these words at first he just stood there a second, but the next thing he knew, he’d slammed Adam up against the counter. It was lucky all the knives were under lock and key: he was so mad he could have literally killed the boy right then. Adam cried out when his bony hips crashed into the Formica’s edge. Grabbing a handful of blond hair, Sam was readying to smash his face into the cupboards above, when a strong hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“What the fuck are you doing, Samuel? Get off of Addy!”

He felt himself torn off Adam, his breath leaving him as he crashed into the counter himself. Blinking back tears of rage and frustration, Sam saw Adam now clasped in his father’s arms.

John’s large hands sought the edges of smooth, twelve-year old jaw, lifting it. “You okay, Baby?”

No sooner had Adam nodded than he ducked into John’s chest with a sob. Looking up from the crying boy he held, John shot a furious glare at Sam.

“Room now! I’ll deal with you later!”

Knowing that tone all too well, Sam bit his tongue and pushed himself away from the counter. He could already feel John’s belt on his ass. On his way out of the kitchen he cast one last look over his shoulder. John had his head dipped down, eyes closed, as he ran rough fingers through Adam’s hair. Blue eyes flickered up from his father chest. New rage crested in Sam’s chest when Adam met his gaze and narrowed his eyes at him.

Slamming the door to his bedroom behind him, Sam darted over to the bag that held all the video equipment. A moment of digging around and he pulled out a vial, the liquid in it so dark red it was almost black. He’d managed to buy it from a guy at the Pit fights. It was another thing that Dean’s bitchings paid for.

A little more rooting around and he had a syringe. The minute it was loaded, Sam moved back over to his bedroom door, pressed his back against it, and sank down to the floor. He held the needle in one hand, while he pulled off his sock and shoe with another. The top of his bare foot was crisscrossed with veins dyed almost black against sallow skin.

Unmindful of how it looked, Sam folded his long leg and in a minute the needle was embedded deep in the tender flesh between his toes.

Unlike heroin, _demon’s blood_ didn’t need a vein to be delivered. Seconds after he pushed the plunger Sam felt his burning anger slip into something equally powerful but far colder. The itch that buzzed under his skin, quieted, even as his cock throbbed to new hardness. Dropping the needle, Sam shoved his pants down and grabbed his throbbing dick. He spit into his hand and began furiously jerking himself.

As he did, he kept his ears open, listening for his father’s footsteps, but his mind was consumed with thoughts of Dean.

* * *

Bobby limped up the steps and onto the porch. Rumsfeld looked up from his spot and tipped his head to the side. While it might have just been curiosity on the dog’s part, Bobby read it as accusation.

“Hush, mutt. I know I’m half hour early. So sue me. What’s the point of being my own boss if I can’t make my own schedule? Besides, I’m hungry.”

The “hungry” part seemed to catch the Rottweiler’s attention. He heaved himself out of his sun-patch with a weary sigh and followed his master into the house. After making a quick visual sweep from the door, despite all the protections around the yard, Bobby moved into the kitchen.

The radio went on and the fridge door swung open. Soon the counter was covered with all the necessary materials for making one hell of a sandwich. From his place on the floor, Rumsfeld watched and his stubbed tail gave a few quick thumps when his master began his assembly of, not one sandwich, but two.

Hearing the short-tailed “thunks” on the linoleum, Bobby glanced down. “Awful confident there, aren’t you?”

A soft whine followed by happy panting came in answer. Bobby shook his head but it didn’t stop him from putting the paper plate that held one of the sandwiches down on the floor between overlarge paws. He listened to the sounds of joyous snuffling as he carried his own plate out into the front room.

Bobby set his plate on the low coffee table, taking half his sandwich with him as he moved over to the desk. His landline rang both here and in the garage but he had half-a-dozen trac-phones designated to different hunters he worked with regularly. Call it quirky but it was his system. He planned to check his tracs and see if anything had come in over e-mail. As soon as his gaze fell on his phones, Bobby set his lunch down atop a mess of papers. He swallowed the half-chewed bite in his mouth, blaming the sudden lump in his throat on this and not the fact that a particular mobile blinked from a new call.

“Must be a wrong number.” It happened occasionally.

He’d gotten that phone the second time John Winchester had left his sons with him… dumped them really, if he was honest about what had happened. Dean had been all of eight and had broken an ankle on a hunt. After he’d cursed John out for being a fucking idiot for taking a little kid on a mission, the Winchester boys had spent three months with him. Unhappy as he’d been about it at the time, he’d grown kind of fond of the little bastards.

He learned soon enough that Sam was scary smart and spoiled despite their Spartan lifestyle. And Dean was something else… Clever in his own way and determined not to show he needed anything… ever. Bobby had also never seen a kid so dedicated to making other people happy. It worried him a bit seeing how hard Dean worked to please.

He just figured it was a result of how John brought his boys up. Not an easy life for any of them. While he didn’t really approve, he kept his mouth shut. After all they weren’t his kids, though sometimes he wished they had been.

Sam had been beside himself when that visit ended, threatened to break his own ankle so he could keep staying there. Dean hadn’t been any happier, though he’d tried to hide it. Bobby had figured out while the boys were there just how much Dean was actually responsible for Sam, how often John left his boys on their own.

He’d bought that phone just for the brothers. Told them if they were ever in a pickle to use that number and he’d be there for them in an instant. Sam had called it hundreds of times in the past, generally just to vent, but while he’d seen Sam once or twice over the last couple years, the boy had all but stopped calling for anything but research and he usually did that over the landline.

It had been like that ever since Dean had run off with that Lisa girl. Bobby supposed it was because Sam blamed him for what had happened. Bobby himself still felt guilty about that, kind of responsible, after all, he’d introduced Lisa to Dean, and had encouraged the relationship.

The boy had deserved to have something of his own.

Picking it up the trac and flipping the phone open, he half-expected to see Sam’s cell number pop up on the screen again. Bobby frowned when he saw it wasn’t.

_Must be a wrong number._

His heart started to beat faster. In the twelve years he’d kept this phone for John’s boys, though he was certain there were numerous times Dean could have used it, he had only called it twice. In both cases the situation had been dire.

Something twisted hard in his gut when Bobby saw it wasn’t a missed call but a text. Opening it and seeing the seeming jumble, his mouth went dry and he pulled out his desk chair to sit down. It was a simple code he and the boys had worked out when Sam was twelve and on a cryptography kick. Sam had insisted that they have some system in place, in case they were ever in a situation where he or Dean could access a phone but couldn’t talk.

Pulling a pen from a drawer and grabbing a sheet of scratch paper, Bobby wracked his brain, trying to remember the specifics of the code. It took him a few minutes, but before long he thought he had it. When his pen stopped scratching he reviewed what he’d put down.

_bobby_

_I am okay - not in danger_

_please do not tell john or sam_

_I need your help_

_dean_

A swell of anger filled Bobby’s chest. He hadn’t heard from Dean at all since he’d run off. It had surprised him of course, that he'd bolted, given Dean’s personality, his ragged devotion to his family. Still, Bobby couldn’t blame him. What he could blame him for, however, was two years of silence and then this, out of the blue?

But Bobby’s rage died quickly, replaced with a deep concern: the fact that Dean said he was okay, was probably the best indication the idiot was likely not. And the need for secrecy…

Bobby frowned. The last time he’d seen Sam and John, John said he hadn’t heard from him since he’d taken off either. If Dean had contacted Sam the younger boy hadn’t been willing to admit it. But it was clear to Bobby that both were obviously still upset by Dean’s disappearance.

Whether John would admit it or not, Bobby imagined he’d probably like to know how his eldest was doing. Course he couldn’t say anything until he really knew what Dean’s situation was.

He was fussing over this fact when the landline rang. Bobby answered it, his mind still half on Dean’s text.

“Singer here.”

“Good to hear it!”

Bobby was caught up short when John Winchester’s voice, hale and hearty sounded over the line. What were the odds? A pang of guilt flared in his chest. He flipped the trac phone shut as though his friend might somehow be able to sense the message.

“Been a long time, Winchester,” Bobby kept his voice gruff.

“Too long,” John hummed. “In fact, Sammy and were thinking we might head over your way, spend a few days. If things weren’t too busy.”

John wasn’t the type to make social call and Bobby knew from the phrasing his friend was fishing.

“When hell freezes over is when things will slow down around here. Literally. But you know you and Sam are always welcome.”

“Good, good. Sam and I have been working on a few things and Sam’s got some research he could really use a little help with. He said he thought you had a couple books in your library that might have the information he needs.”

Maybe it was having received the text, but his friend's words didn’t quite ring sincere in Bobby’s ears.

“Yeah, sure. No problem.”

“Great! I’m not sure when we’ll get on the road, but I’ll call you when we do.”

Bobby heard what sounded like a crash in the background.

“Look, Sam’s doing something stupid in the kitchen, maybe trying to burn the bunker down.” The distraction in John’s voice was obvious. “Like I said, I’ll call you.”

“No problem, go get after the ijit before you end up homeless. Cause while you can visit, I’m not taking you in indefinitely.”

John forced a chuckle before he clicked off. When the line went silent, Bobby stared at his phone for a long moment before he hung it up.

He retrieved his sandwich and took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. Something was up with the Winchesters, all of them, and he planned to find out just what the hell was going on.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final note... In case you're wondering, it's not my intention to try and exonerate Sam with the "demon blood" drug thing. He did terrible, unforgivable things to Dean and he'll pay for that. I jut needed some reasons to explain what all's feeding his darkness in this fic for myself and that's one that came up.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, even if it wasn't who you like to read about.


	10. Unexpected Sweetness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, my sweet readers... How I have trespassed on your patience. 
> 
> Never intended it to be so long between updates, but... you know the list by heart, I'm sure.
> 
> Anyway. I have been working on this chapter off and on for weeks now in little bites. You can thank the respiratory virus that's held me down the past four days for its finish. Though if the quality seems off, I'm blaming it on the flu.
> 
> I tried to make this chapter extra long to make up for my wayward authorship and to also keep plying poor Dean with more comfort. Hope it pleases, and while I make no promises on when I'll be able to update next, know I've no intentions of abandoning this story.

* * *

The barking of dogs outside the barn pulled Benny from his reverie. He’d been thinking about Dean, hoping to finish his work quickly so he could get back up to the house and check on him again. He wanted to make sure Dean’s meds kept ahead of his pain and his anxiety and the last time he’d looked in on the boy had been a couple hours ago. Thankfully, Dean had been sleeping soundly then.

When the dogs continued to clamor, Benny tipped his head to the side, listening. Unconsciously his large hands gripped the handle of the pitchfork just a little tighter. They eased up once he understood the frenzied sounds were recognition and not distress. A few moments later Gabriel ambled into view, followed by three furry, wiggling bodies.

“Figured by the sound of their yapping it must be trouble. Looks Like I was right.” Benny wiped the sweat from his brow and adjusted his cap. Stepping out of the stall he’d been preparing, he set the pitchfork off to the side and closed the gate behind him. “Thought you were coming back tomorrow?”

“Ah… What can I say?” Gabriel shot him a grin. “Just can’t seem to stay away from the old homestead these days.”

Benny’s heavy brow dipped. Normally after he’d been “ranch-bound,” Gabriel would milk any opportunity to be in a city for as long as possible.  

“Where’s my little bro at?”

Yeah, something was definitely up. There was no mistaking the wary way older Novak’s sharp eyes scanned the massive barn.

“He saddled up Caleb and took most of the pack with him to pull herd from the upper range.” Benny nodded over to the few occupied stalls; even as he reached down to ruff the head of one of the excited dogs still bouncing around their feet. “Three of the ewes he brought back from his trip lambed yesterday.

“Course it was warmer where they came from, but we knew the season was coming. The Boss took it as an omen and didn’t want to take any chances of ours dropping where he couldn’t catch ‘em.”

Gabriel settled himself against a straw bale. “Such a good shepherd, my brother.”  

Despite his teasing tone, his expression was far more serious. He ignored the pointed nuzzling of one of Castiel’s pups and watched it gruff in annoyance and move over to Benny looking for its pats.

“Speaking of which, how’s his newest lost lamb?”

Studying Gabriel, Benny got a sinking feeling in his stomach. He straightened and clicked to get all the dogs’ attention. With a simple hand gesture, though reluctant, they filed out of the barn leaving him and Gabriel alone with the sheep. In the absence of their energy everything fell suddenly quiet until he broke the stillness.

“You tell me.”

The quick grin that twitched Gabriel’s lips was bitter and he didn’t offer a straight answer immediately.

“You know how hard it was to get all those labs done without tipping Michael off?”

Though he nodded sympathetically, Benny remained silent.

“Worse than that, I’m pretty sure those lab techs thought I was having the tests done for myself.”

“Well, that’s the price you pay for having that wild reputation of yours, Gabriel.”

Gabriel huffed in feigned irritation. “I may be rambunctious, but that doesn’t mean I’m not discriminating.”

Now it was Benny’s turn to snort.

He would have kept ribbing Gabriel about his wanton ways, Lord knew there was enough material on that topic to have teased for days, but he was more interested in the test results; his worry fueled by Castiel’s report earlier of Dean’s vomiting. Although, given what Dean had been through, even if his bill of health was completely clean,  there was no doubt they’d be dealing with all kinds of medical symptoms and complications for months.

“So what did you find out?”

Gabriel’s normally sly expression slipped. Benny’s shoulders tensed knowing, unlike Castiel, the older Novak rarely ever looked so uncomfortable.

“Well, on the health front, your boy didn’t get off too bad, all things considered.” Gabriel shuffled his feet. “There was no HIV, hepatitis, herpes, or syphilis... but he did test positive for gonorrhea and chlamydia. I’ve got the medications for those out in my rig, in case the antibiotics you’ve been giving him already haven’t knocked them back.”

Benny sighed hearing this. Though it wasn’t good, it certainly wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Studying Gabriel, however, he realized there was more.

“I got the testosterone you asked for, and some supplements for him too, along with the other things Cassie asked me to get. The kid’s got some vitamin deficiencies and he’s anemic. But other than that, his bloodwork looked okay. At least that’s what the tech told me. I can give you the printouts.”

Not surprised to hear Dean was anemic, Benny nodded.  ”Yeah, just leave the papers in the vet bay and I’ll look at them later.”  

He’d figured there was more to the boy’s paleness that simple lack of sunlight. Getting more acquainted with the evidence of Dean’s abuse as he’d been attending to him, he had little doubt Dean had lost a significant amounts of blood over time from internal damages.

Shooing Gabriel off his perch, Benny picked up the straw bale like it was a kitten and carried it over towards an empty stall. “You have any more good news for me?” Behind him he heard Gabriel clear his throat.

“I had another lab run some tests on that blanket and those swabs.”

Benny stopped in his tracks but didn’t turn back around. “And.”

“They pulled DNA from ten different guys and at least half a dozen dogs.”

“Shit.” Benny dropped the bale; it hit the ground with a heavy thud. He’d had little doubt about what Dean had endured, but hearing it verified only made it that more real.

“Look Benny, that’s not all.”

Gabriel moved around to stand in front of him. Seeing the look on his face, Benny sat down on the bale and crossed well-muscled arms over his chest, waiting.

“I did some sleuthing. Asked around… Carefully,” Gabriel added with some indignance under the other man’s scrutiny. “This wasn’t the first time the kid had experienced that kind of… uh....activity.”

Benny’s brow rose and his expression grew measurably darker with each word Gabriel spoke.

“I got a few tips, checked them out.

“I have a hacker guy who owed me favors. Based on what I found out, I got him to look up some dark web stuff. The kid had been being used that way for a while. There’s a site with videos… dedicated just to him…. Whoever runs it knows what he’s doing, the site shifts every time there’s a new upload so it’s not easy to trace. The movies on it go back about a year and a half.”

Seeing the mounting tension in Benny’s bodylanguage, Gabriel’s volume measurably dropped. “I didn’t look at more than a couple, just a few minutes of footage…” He’d hardly been able to handle what he had seen and even now scenes continued to flash through his mind at the most inopportune times, leaving him sickened.

“I doubt that any of it could be called ‘consensual’ and given the number of movies… uh... I mean…” Gabriel  brought a hand to his forehead as if he could rub away the images indelibly stained into his memory. “Damn, Benny, forget the kid holding onto any kind of sanity, I have no idea how he’s even still alive.”

“FUCK!”

Benny spat the word out as he slammed his fist into his thigh. He stood and grabbed the bale he’d been sitting on. Gabriel dove out of the way as it went flying over the rails of the stall. The penned sheep bleated in fright at the noise as the bale crashed into the barn wall at the empty stall’s far side.

The sound of distressed stock snapped Benny out of his rage… barely. Teeth clenched he scrubbed a palm over his stubbled jaw. Keeping a wary eye on him, once he felt assured Benny had reasonably settled himself, Gabriel straightened. He kept his distance however, as he continued.

“Wasn’t easy, but my computer guy can manage some real CSI shit. Got him to identify a few of the locations where the videos were shot.

“Then I called in a couple more favors, found some people willing to divulge. Seems Dean had himself two ‘keepers’ and they worked him around three or four states in some kind of circuit.”

“You got the bastards’ names?” There was nothing but growl in the words. Running large hands over his close-cropped hair, Benny began pacing.

It was too easy for Gabriel to see where this was going, and revealing the identity of Dean’s captors would just throw gasoline on the fire of Benny’s rage. “Slow down there, Hoss. Tearing out of here on some vigilante quest is a bad idea and it’s not going to help Dean at the moment. He needs you here, big guy.”

Though his fury still burned red hot in his chest, Benny’s eyes narrowed at the way Gabriel said this. How could it get any worse? But the way that Gabriel was avoiding his gaze… Benny was certain they hadn’t hit the bottom of Dean’s tragedy yet.

“What aren’t you telling me, Novak?”

* * *

The sound of Castiel’s phone pulled Dean from sleep with a start. For one fear-filled moment he was lost in the past, his mind filled with thoughts about cheap hotel alarm clocks and grueling training routines. When he blinked himself back to the present at last, a quiet despair filled him at how much worse than that his situation was.

_Had been…_

Dean corrected himself as his bleary eyes swept over the clean room, quiet except for barely audible radio playing on the nightstand and the phone vibrating beside him.

He’d slept deeply and, though it was restorative, it left him stiff and awkward on waking. It took a moment to loosen both his limbs and his unwieldy hands, but he managed to answer the call. He opened the cell to find a text from “Benny.”

_Hey Dean_

Dean knew he had permission to use Castiel’s phone; had already used it once to text Bobby. Even so, it was more than just strain that trembled his thumbs as he answered.

_Hi_

The response was immediate.

_Wake you?_

_Yessir_

_No need for any of that “sir” stuff. Sorry I disturbed your rest, lil bro_

Despite himself, the corner of Dean’s mouth twitched upwards at Benny’s response. Given this license, his next response was much more casual.

_S’ ok. been sleeping 2 much_

Dean felt a twinge of unease after he sent it, however: since they’d found him, this was the most that he’d said to Benny, or Castiel for that matter.

Obviously this didn’t go unnoticed, as Benny promptly responded with a smiley emoticon followed by: _Don’t know as there’s such a thing as “too much sleep” for you right now._

It made Dean internally grin, thinking about someone as hulking as Benny sending happy faces. He was pulled from this thought by the next incoming text.

_You feeling okay?_

Dean made a quick inventory. He felt just as crappy as usual, and he knew he’d need another pain pill before too long, but at least at the moment he didn’t feel sick to his stomach anymore.

_Yeah_

_No more queasiness?_

It was simultaneously comforting and annoying the way Benny was clarifying. Dean knew it should have bothered him more that this relative stranger had already realized his tendency to diminish just how bad he felt.

_No_

_Good_

The next text wiped the curl from Dean’s lips and made his chest tighten.

_Hey, Gabriel's back. He’s headed up to the house_

While grateful for the warning, Dean’s previously stable gut immediately twisted. He hadn’t met Gabriel yet, really. Though he knew Castiel’s brother had been there early on, when he’d been pulled from the trailer; he’d been pretty out of it then.

His memory after Castiel entered the trailer, up until a few days ago, was filled with vast gaps. Gabriel was one of these. The thought of someone “new” in the house filled Dean with a deep dread, followed by an equally strong flush of shame. This was Gabriel’s family’s home after all. The man had the right to be there. He was the one who didn’t belong.

Dean drew a deep breath and texted back.

_K_

He thought that would be it, so he started when another text sounded.

_I told Gabriel not to pester you too much. Text me if he gets annoying and I’ll come up and kick his tail. Otherwise I’ll be there in a couple hours for dinner. The boss might be late._

_K. Thanks._

After waiting a couple of beats with no further reply, Dean exhaled a shaky breath and tried to gather himself. It was freeing to be able to communicate with someone like a real person finally, but it had been exhausting and uncomfortable too.

Even now, Dean fought to keep his mind from obsessing over every word he’d sent Benny. From worrying if he’d said something wrong, to, if he had, what the punishment for that would be. It didn’t matter that there was nothing from Benny’s side of the exchange to indicate displeasure.

Dean forced himself to focus on the happy face the man had sent. That meant he’d done good...

_Right?_

And so far Benny hadn’t shown him anything but kindness. Not that this couldn’t change in a heartbeat. But that was a future worry and at present, Dean knew he had a more pressing matter he needed to prepare for.

_Gabriel._

What he knew of Gabriel came from Benny and Castiel talking about him. Benny’s comments indicated Gabriel was kind of an ass, but harmless. Castiel on the other hand seemed much more critical and cautious of his brother. Looking back on his own history, Dean didn’t take this lightly.

A little of his discomfort had eased, however, knowing he could call on Benny if he needed to. Not that he would unless it was an absolute emergency. He’d overheard Benny and Castiel in the hallway outside his door talking about their sheep the night before, and knew they were scrambling to keep the ranch running smoothly.

Benny had been urging Castiel to bring on their usual seasonal help for the coming lambs. A new pang of guilt pinged inside Dean, knowing how much of their time he was taking up. Not just that, but he’d listened to Castiel balk at the idea of bringing more people into their operation until “ _Dean gets more stable_.”

Thinking about Castiel and his concern made something warm and fragile flutter in Dean’s chest equal in measure to his guilt. And the feeling scared him. He pushed it aside and instead simply resolved to do whatever he could to stay in Castiel’s good graces… _And Benny’s_ … and to make their lives as easy as possible. Even if this meant opening himself up to interaction with Gabriel.

Closing out of his texting with Benny, Dean saw another message had come in he’d missed. His eyes widened. It was an answer to his note to Bobby. He stared at the number for several long minutes, heart in his throat before he finally worked up the courage to open it.

Bobby had used the same code he had, so it took a few seconds to decipher. The words blurred as Dean’s eyes filled.

_How can I help?_

There was no recrimination, no “where the hell have you been?” Although there was, no doubt,  likely to be later. No, instead, Bobby had responded almost immediately and with a hunter’s intensity, knowing that when one hunter called another for help, time was of the essence. At least, this was what Dean told himself anyways: Bobby had answered as he had because he was/had been a hunter, not because it was him.

It was overwhelming enough seeing how quickly, how faithfully the old man responded. For a moment Dean was lost in a terrible grief, his heart consumed, considering how much he might have been spared if he’d only been able to get a message to Bobby earlier.

This thought was as useless as his tears, however. Dean wiped both away as quickly as he could. _Nothing to do about that now._ He knew he needed to figure out what exactly to say to Bobby, since he’d actually made contact.

Despite the fact he knew Gabriel was on his way, Dean tapped out an answer without using the code. He’d erase the message once their conversation was over.

_Have u heard frm dad or sam latly?_

It wasn’t the best opening, but knowing where his biggest threat was and how close Bobby was to it was critical. It physically pained Dean to type out “dad” instead of “John” but he knew if he did otherwise Bobby would immediately be suspicious.

It was less than a minute before the phone buzzed back.

_Today. John called not long after your text. He and sam are coming over this way soon. Research._

Seeing this message Dean dropped the phone, his lean frame wracked with a sudden bout of shakes. Sick with panic he grasped for the cell. His hands trembled so badly it took him several tries to get his next message typed out. He knew John’s ways better than the man might have known himself. That he’d contacted Bobby meant they were looking for him, had started to hunt in earnest, and if Bobby said anything…

_Did u tell him I txted_

Dean wondered if his heart would be able to bear the strain, thankfully, he didn’t have to wait long.

_You asked me not to and even if I don’t agree with it, I didn’t. You still hiding from them? Dean, you should give them a call. Sam at least. Kid’s lost without you._

It killed Dean to know Bobby thought he’d been hiding from John and Sam when he’d been held prisoner by them this whole time. And Bobby’s admonition for him to call Sam… Dean swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. He knew it wasn’t wise, but there was no other way to he could think of to let Bobby know that they were both in danger now.

_Dad and Sam have gone darkside._

The delay between this message and the last was so short, Dean knew Bobby had responded as soon as he’d read it.

_What the hell are you saying dean? I’m calling now._

It was almost impossible to ignore the immediate ringing of Castiel’s cell, knowing Bobby was right there, just a click away. But somehow Dean managed. He refused the incoming call and typed out.

_I can’t talk, im hurt.  But im safe. With safe people. Please bobby don’t tell any1 i called._

Heart thundering in his chest, Dean exhaled what almost sounded like a sob when Bobby’s next text arrived.

_Hurt how?_

Dean’s thumb hovered over the keypad, but he couldn’t bring himself to spell out any kind of answer. At the other end, Bobby must have suspected as much because after a few long minutes he sent another text.

_Look Dean, I won’t push, but someone has some serious explaining to do. I want to talk to one of these “safe” people your with if you can’t. And I want to see you. I need to clarify this “darkside” stuff, because you’ve not only got me worried now, but you’ve confused the hell out of me._

Dean’s stomach rolled and he thought he might puke again. God, there was no way he could tell Bobby what had happened. After all, what kind of hunter would that make him, taken and turned bitch by his own family. And even if he did, would Bobby believe him?

A terrified moan curled in his throat, but he caged it behind a clenched jaw. He should have known better than to reach out at all. Bobby had hunted with John for years, many of those while his dad had been happily fucking him, sometimes even under Bobby’s roof.

_Happy, Bitch? You’ve totally fucked yourself now. What the hell were you thinking?_

Dean suddenly felt like he was drowning, but then he remembered Adam. Adam was why he was doing this. He’d lost himself a long time ago, it had been fucked out of him by his own family and over a hundred dogs. Bitches didn’t get to have pride and it was stupid to cling to the illusion that any remained. So, if it meant that Adam could be spared the kind of horrors he’d endured, as much as it hurt, Dean knew he  had to chance Bobby’s possible disbelief and certain disgust.

Letting Bobby see him like he was now… trying to figure out how to tell Castiel that he needed him to talk to Bobby. Dean’s mind was reeling with strategies and risk. But his thumbs moved of their own accord meanwhile, and he hit send before he’d even realized what he’d done.

He stared down at the message he’d sent.

_My people r out working right now. I’ll have sum1 call you latr 2night._

Dean was amazed by how composed the text sounded, like the old “hunter Dean” and not the broken bitch he’d become. He should have felt proud but instead, cold sweat trickled down his back making him shiver. His chest was once again caught in a vice grip, leaving him breathless. He was audibly panting by the time the next text from Bobby came in.

_Good. Look dean, you have my word I’ll be keeping all this just between the two of us until I know for sure just what the hell’s going on. I’m glad you’re safe now. Call me a fool, but I’ve been worried about you._

Despite the years that had passed, Dean could all but hear the gruff tones of Bobby’s voice and the man’s words soothed. The iron fist gripping his chest eased a bit.

_I mean it about wanting to see you though. It’s been too long. I need to know you’re really okay. Saying john and sam have gone dark, that’s something that has to be discussed, with you or whoever you’re trusting right now and sooner than later. Especially since they’re coming to my place in a couple days._

Dean knew how much Bobby hated texting, and to see so many words, and what these words indicated, a new wave of emotion crashed over him. But this time it wasn’t fear that moved him. There was no way to describe how it felt, that Bobby was willing to entertain what he’d said about John and Sam, that he was willing to give him the benefit of his doubt until he’d gotten all the pieces in place.

_Thank you._

Never had Dean written more sincere words. Again, Bobby immediately responded.

_Save your thanks until after we talk._

The corner of Dean’s mouth twitched at Bobby’s false harshness, there was something immeasurably comforting about it. He’d no sooner read these words than the phone in his gauze-wrapped hand buzzed again.

_I’m giving you until 10 tonight. If I haven’t heard from you by then, I’m turning the phone over to Ash and tracking you down myself. Got it?_

Despite how terrifying this all was, Dean’s lip curled a little bit higher. He caught his wet eyes with the back of one of his shirtsleeves and sniffed.

_Yessir._

The phone remained silent after that and Dean realized their conversation was over... _for now_.  

Something that felt a lot like hope was budding within him. It had been a long time since he’d had something so painful actually feel good too. Flipping Castiel’s phone closed, Dean pulled it into his chest. Cradling next to his heart, he broke down.

* * *

 Gabriel climbed the wooden steps set into the hillside up to the front porch of Castiel's house. His arms were weighted with packages from town. A few supplies, but mostly things his brother had requested for Dean.

With every step, his mind replayed the last of his conversation with Benny. There’d been more bales flying once Benny found out how Dean’s own family had violated him. Still, Gabriel had been stunned after Benny’s initial fury, with how well the Bayou boy had taken the rest of the crazy familial twist to Dean’s tale.

Apparently growing up in the south had given Benny a healthy respect and, not some small belief in the supernatural. At least this was the reason he'd given for accepting the possibility that there was a whole subculture of crazies running around "killing" ghosts and exorcising demons with surprising aplomb.

_“Don’t you understand, what I’m saying Benny? According to what I was told, Dean “killed” his first “ghost” when he was nine. The kid had a reputation as a cold blooded bastard before he was even in high school. And now my brother has this ‘monster slayer’ tucked up at his house._

_“Who’s to say the kid’s not going to go psycho and kill Castiel in his sleep?”_

The conviction in Benny’s response still astounded Gabriel.

_“First, Dean can barely move, Gabriel. So the chance of him harming any of us at this point is ridiculous. And you have to know as well as I do, telling the Boss he’s harboring a child soldier who’s known nothing but violence his whole life in one form or another, and one whose family hurt him in the most unimaginable ways, is only going to make him all that more determined to keep Dean around.”_

_“Yeah, but when Michael finds out, and he will…”_

_“We’ll deal with that when it happens.” Benny dropped the growl from his voice and his tone became uncharacteristically somber. “Look Gabriel, I’ve worked with animals my whole life. When I was a vet at the track, people used to think I was magic for the way I could read their horses._

_“I could spend five minutes with a horse and tell you almost everything about its character. Saw more than a few troubled animals, but I never had any trouble telling you if a horse was mean by nature, or if it had been pushed that way by its owners and just needed a little kindness to turn it around._

_“And then sometimes, cause I worked some rough tracks,  I’d come across a horse that no matter what it’s handlers did to it, it just kept going trying to please. An animal like that would run through anything just to earn just a little bit of praise from its handlers. Yeah, I watched one of those horses kick up a fuss the morning of a race, get beat for it, and then that afternoon it drop dead five paces after finishing first, cause it had pushed its heart past the limit to make its owner’s happy._

_Benny stopped after this, leaving a few moments of silence to let his words sink in._

_“And you think Dean is that last kind of horse?” Gabriel hadn't been able to keep the doubt from his voice._

_Benny just shrugged in response. “Believe me, working the track,  and working in the med bay at the prison… People are a little harder to read, but not all that different. No matter how much we try to pretend we're above every other creature.”_

What Benny had left unsaid was how he must have read something similar in his brother, otherwise, he wouldn’t have intervened on Castiel’s behalf when they were in prison together. And there was no doubt that without Benny, Castiel would have never made it out of those five years alive.

That had pretty much been the end of their conversation, Though, as he was leaving the barn, after getting a long list of annoying instructions, Benny had called out behind him, _“Be kind to him, Gabriel. I know you have it in you.”_

_Kind,_

Gabriel growled at the word now, pushing the memory of their conversation aside. Unlike some of his clan, he’d never derived glee from outright cruelty, but overt kindness was a notion that had little room in the whole of his history, and certainly in the larger Novak operation.

Castiel, on the other hand, had always been kind. Still was. And all it had ever gotten him was fucked over in more ways than Gabriel liked to think about.

Then his eyes fell on the newly painted porch as he mounted it. Pushing into the cool quiet interior of the house, he took in all the things his brother had done since their grandfather had left the ranch to Castiel and he’d returned to it. New drywall, fresh paint, refinished floors, the updated lighting. The house held none of the old oppressiveness it had contained when Gabriel had spent time there on those forced childhood visits.

Like Dean, Castiel had been through things that would have been termed unendurable by most and yet… Looking around now, Gabriel couldn’t deny how hard his younger brother had worked to literally rebuild his life. Given the nature that seemed part and parcel for most of their other brothers, that Castiel had chosen to respond this way was really nothing short of miraculous.

Gabriel set the bags on the kitchen table in the dining area of the open floor plan of the house’s main space. He reached into one of the sacks and pulled out a bag of candy, popping a piece into his mouth. He needed something sweet to counter all the bitter news and the thoughts he’d had to bear that day.

In the quiet of the house, he heard a soft stirring and his gaze drifted over to the cracked door where his brother’s newest stray was ensconced. He tucked the bag of sweets into the inside pocket of his jacket and headed towards Dean’s room.

 _“Kind…”_ He reminded himself.

It wasn’t a consciousness that came naturally to him, but after Benny’s admonition and his reflections on Castiel, he decided he’d give it a shot.  Of course, he wasn’t stupid either; so “cautious” was also going to stay high up on his list.

* * *

Dean had just finished erasing both Bobby’s call and his texts when he heard the front door to the house swing open and someone step in. Every muscle of his sore body tensed and he froze, waiting, wondering what Gabriel would do.

Part of him hoped Castiel’s brother would just ignore him, but he knew he wasn’t going to be so lucky when, after some shuffling around outside, Dean heard footsteps drawing closer to his room. New tension twisted itself into his shoulders when a couple soft raps sounded on his door.

“Hey, kid. You awake? Benny told me you needed to take a couple pills.”

Dean couldn’t help but draw back, pushing himself to the corner his bed angled into. Still cradling it against his chest, he pulled Castiel’s phone tighter to him. It was his lifeline to Benny and there was no way he was going to give it up without a fight.

Gabriel’s body followed his voice into the room, but he stopped short when he saw the boy curled up in the corner. The days that had passed since he’s last seen Dean had wrought a lot of changes for the better, but there was nothing warrior-like at all in Dean’s posture, instead he held himself like a wounded animal, anticipating another blow.

Once again, images from the videos his hacker found swirled through Gabriel’s mind. He dropped his head and sighed. While there was no doubt he’d enjoyed his share of  kinky shit over the years, it had always been consensual and human. He damned the fact that his mind felt so tainted after just a few minutes of footage. Then the thought hit him of how Dean must feel, being the one who’d actually lived through it.

Lifting his head, Gabriel met Dean’s gaze.The boy’s eyes were red-rimmed, he’d obviously been crying. The kid looked so wrecked it sent all his earlier fears right out the window. He felt like an ass for the things he’d said to Benny.

Gabriel watched Dean drag a sleeve across his eyes. Obviously the boy was not only uncomfortable with his appearance, but at being caught in such a state. Keeping his features schooled in an expression of nonchalance, Gabriel made his voice equally unaffected.

“Didn’t mean to startle you. Heard a noise and guessed you were stirring.” He held his place in the doorway and made no attempt to push further into the room. “We haven’t been properly introduced, I’m Gabriel. Benny said he told you I was coming.”

Gabriel noted his brother’s cell clasped to the boy’s chest in a gauze-wrapped hand. Scabby fingers flickered, tightening their grip as though fearful it would be ripped away. Dean nodded slowly.

“Your pills are on the night table, there?” The question was rhetorical as Gabriel's eyes shifted over to the bottles that peppered the bedside tabletop, glad for the opportunity to look away from the kid’s haunting green gaze. He made a slight show of pulling his own i-phone, slowly, out of a jacket pocket, hoping this would help reassure Dean he had no designs on his brother’s crappy relic of a cell.

“Benny gave me a list of what you should take.” Gabriel stepped into the room now as he scrolled through the notes he’d jotted down. He’d leave the introduction of the new meds to Benny and Castiel, doubting that Dean would easily agree to take something from someone he didn’t know yet.

He kept wide berth from the bed as he moved to the table. Gabriel tried to keep his movements slow and purposeful as he filtered through the bottles looking for the right ones, but he was a man of high energies, and it seemed obvious from Dean’s near constant flinching he was still moving too quickly.

Trying to introduce a distraction, he nodded down to the radio.

“That my brother’s idea of entertainment for you?” Gabriel sighed without waiting for an answer. “God, Cassie is such a nerd.”

Dean couldn’t help but bristle a little, hearing his benefactor being dissed, even if the words were said with a tired, brotherly affection he too easily recognized. His ire faded a bit however, as Gabriel continued to speak while he shook various pills into the palm of his hand.

“At least he let you pick the station. Obviously. Otherwise you would have been stranded in here with hours of songs about broken hearts, pickup trucks, and beer.”

Dean’s eyes widened a little when Gabriel shot him a conspiratorial, amber-eyed wink.

He had no idea what to make Castiel’s brother: the guy’s face was far more sly than Castiel’s. His features, somewhere between “foxy” and “ferret-like.” And while it seemed obvious the man was trying to be careful around him, Gabriel’s wiry frame practically buzzed with the effort of repressing his energies.

He tensed as Gabriel thrust a hand at him. Dean berated himself for recoiling, seeing it open-palmed, holding the pills his body was already murmuring for. After carefully tucking Castiel’s cell into a pocket of the loose sweats he wore, Dean extended one of his own hands out to receive the proffered drugs, doing his best to keep it from shaking.

Gabriel dropped the pills onto Dean’s gauze-clad palm and dipped to retrieve a near-empty sports bottle from beside the bed. He frowned at the amount of water remaining.

“Hold on a sec.”

Dean  watched the man dart into the bathroom and turn on the tap, wincing as the sound of running water sent a pinching need to his bladder. It had been a while since he’d gone. His brow was still furrowed, worrying over this new dilemma, when Gabriel emerged and offered him a now filled bottle to accompany his pills.

Popping the meds, Dean cautiously took the bottle with both hands. The cool water felt good on his throat.

“Look, Dean… I gotta warn you right off the bat… I’m no good at this…” Gabriel most often believed that the direct approach was the best, but it was strange how flustered Dean’s guarded, questioning expression made him feel.

“Uh, Benny said I should check in on you and make sure you had everything you needed. But I’m not all that good at taking care of things…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Stirring stuff up is actually far more my area of expertise, generally.”

Dean set the water bottle down and cocked his head slightly. The unconscious canine mannerism made something usually solid within Gabriel’s chest shift.

“I mean, Benny told me you weren’t talking much. Or, okay, at all. But if you need anything...”

Filled with trepidation, Dean was battling within himself over what was worse: letting Gabriel know that he did indeed need something and soon, which meant he’d have to let the man handle him, or to let nature run its course and sit there soaking until Benny or Castiel returned and had to deal with the mess he was going to make.

It was subtle, but Gabriel immediately caught how the kid’s green eyes flickered wistfully towards the open door of the bathroom. His heart sank. _Right… of course._

“So, I bet you probably need to piss.”

The was no harshness in his tone but at the words, Dean’s head dropped and color crept into his pale cheeks.

“No shame in that.” Gabriel wasn’t sure at the moment who he was trying to convince more, Dean or himself. “So, how does that work then?”

He watched as Dean painfully shuffled to the edge of the bed, eyes never leaving him long. It was hard watching the kid struggle, and Gabriel wondered for the first time if Castiel had been like this after…

He pushed the thought out of his mind and instead followed Dean’s nod to the wheelchair. It took a few minutes, and some awkward maneuvering, especially with Dean’s body coiled so tight from tension, but eventually Gabriel had him settled into the chair.

Once Dean was wheeled into the bathroom and the chair was set up next to the toilet, Gabriel asked, “So, you got this? Or do you need my help here?”

Tense as things had been, Dean couldn’t stifle a snort at the relief on Gabriel’s face when he shook his head “no” to the question of help. It would be a struggle for sure, but he was determined to find a way to do this on his own.

Gabriel couldn’t help but smile at this, “Yeah, it’s an obvious joyride for us both.” There was no malice, only bitter humor in his voice. He was pleasantly surprised when this caused Dean to look up at him, to sense the kid seemed to share an appreciation of his style of joking.

“Good to see you have a sense of humor, kid.” Gabriel backed out of the bathroom “Do me a favor and see if you can’t pass that along to my brother. Eh?

“Let me know when you’re done and I’ll come back and retrieve you.” These last words were muffled behind the closed wooden door.

The sound of the toilet flushing quite a few minutes later alerted Gabriel to the fact Dean had finished.

It really hadn’t taken all that long for Dean to piss, but just maneuvering himself from the chair to the toilet and the up and down of sweats and pullup was really labor intensive.

Making sure to knock before he came back in, Gabriel was surprised by both how sweaty and quietly pleased Dean appeared.

Wheeling him back out into the bedroom, rather than push Dean’s chair over to the bed, Gabriel set it next to the regular chair nearby, which, he promptly collapsed into.

Dean's expression became immediately wary. He watched apprehensively as Gabriel pulled a bag from his pocket. Green eyes widened in surprise when the man pulled a wrapped sucker out of the bag, shucked the waxed paper off the sweet and popped it into his mouth.

“Want one?”

The last time Dean had been offered a piece of candy was months before, at Christmas: a candycane. It was given to him to lick by Sam, only after it had spent a number of minutes stuck in his ass, the peppermint burning like hell for over an hour after the candy was gone. Even as he winced at the memory, his mouth watered, sweet-tooth activated for something that wasn’t fruit juice, or chalky protein drink, but honest to goodness high-fructose corn syrup.

Of course, Dean knew better than to take candy from strangers, so instead he just dropped his gaze,keeping his eyes fixed on the hands curled in his lap.

Gabriel wasn’t blind to Dean’s want, nor was he ignorant of all the dangers his seemingly simply offer opened up. His own father had been a cruel and controlling bastard, often dangling not luxuries, but necessities before his kids, and taking them away just for the hell of it. This was one of the reasons he tended not to deny himself anything he could indulge in these days, especially now that the prick was finally gone.

Peering into his goody bag he looked at his remaining suckers. “Lemon?” he hummed aloud. Then he shook his head. “Nah, you look more like a cherry aficionado.” Gabriel made sure to keep any innuendo from his voice as he pulled out a bright red pop and pulled the wrapper off.

He leaned over and set the stick into the crease of one of Dean’s thumbs and settled back, watching the kid blink at it. Dean curled his thumb eventually, steadying the sucker in his grip, but didn’t look up to meet his gaze.

“You don’t have to eat it now. Keep it for later if you want.” Gabriel settled back again into his chair with a sigh. "Probably better that way. Likely Cassie’ll give me hell for spoiling your dinner. Knowing him.

“You want me to help you get settled back in bed, Kid?” As he asked this, Gabriel leaned to the side and switched the radio over to AM. Static crackled as he shifted the knob until the undeniable cadence of a sportscaster's voice filled the quiet room. “We could listen to the game on Castiel’s ghetto box here. Nuggets are playing the Jazz. I got a hundred on Denver to kick Utah’s ass.”

Gabriel tipped his head to the side, his expression both pleased and sly when this lifted Dean’s green gaze to his own again at last.

“Or... There’s a kick ass recliner out in the other room that could have your name on it and a fifty inch flatscreen.”

* * *

 It was dark by the time Benny made it back up to the house.

Adjusting the slow cooker in his hands, he wasn’t surprised to hear the TV blaring as he stepped onto the Boss’ porch. Castiel himself rarely watched TV, but after his first exile to the ranch for “punishment,” Gabriel had hauled up and installed a flat screen in the front room and when he was present, stimuli junkie that he was, it was almost always on.

What did surprise Benny though, shocked the hell out of him, in fact, was to push through the front door and find a blanket-wrapped Dean curled, feet up, in one of the front room’s two recliners, while Gabriel sat nearby on the couch, yelling at the screen.

His arrival put a stop to the older Novak’s squawking. Benny couldn’t bite back the grin splitting his face when Dean nodded a shy acknowledgment to him. Seeing the flash of unsurety in the boy’s eyes, Benny made sure to let him know how pleased he was to see Dean out of his room.

“Hey there, little brother. Look at you! Out amongst the living at last. Or at least kind of…” Benny shot a look at Gabriel.

“Hey! I'm as lively as they come!”Gabriel snapped back good-naturedly.

Benny just hummed at this as he made his way into the kitchen to set the crock up. He’s started the stew that morning before heading to work in the kitchenette of the barn-connected studio he occupied.

“Boss, will be up in a few. He’s just finishing putting the pack away.”

Much as he claimed not to be a caretaker, it heartened Benny to note that the chair Gabriel had settled Dean into. Whether Gabriel had chosen it intentionally or not, the recliner hugged Dean giving him security and his own space. But where it was set, nothing could really sneak up on him either: Dean could watch the door and see pretty much everything in the open area but the far back of the kitchen. While a quick glance over the back of his chair, and he could see his room and the long hall that contained the stairs to the second floor, as well as the rest of the main floor’s closed rooms.

Benny’s pleasure with the recliner, and at seeing Dean appropriately layered with blankets, water-bottle set on a tray within easy reach, along with what looked like a half-empty protein drink, was enough to keep him quiet about the boy’s slightly red-stained lips or the couple of empty candy wrappers that also adorned the table.

“Better be careful there, Gabe.”

Gabriel tipped his head back over the couch curiously, watching Benny plug the slowcooker in.

“You do too good at looking after Dean and you might find yourself being actually useful for once.”

This pulled not only an aggravated look from Gabriel, but Dean also looked slightly affronted at the mention of being “looked after.” Seeing their combined expressions Benny couldn’t help but roar.

“Oh, hush it, Hoss!” Gabriel growled amicably, gesturing back to the TV. “I can hardly hear the announcer over your cackling."

Benny pulled a box of cornbread mix from one of the cupboards. “Who’s playing?”

“Well, you missed Denver thrash the Jazz. Now we’re onto the European league!” Gabriel turned back around to the screen. “Thanks to the brains behind a dozen variants of ESPN.”

“You like any sports other than basketball, Dean?”

While his time with Gabriel had passed remarkably well, the moment that Benny arrived, Dean felt the weight of a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying drop away from him. Since then he had been drifting, basking in the banter between Benny and Gabriel. So, he was caught off guard by Benny’s question.

He nodded hesitantly. Not that he’d ever really had a chance to cultivate a true interest in team sports. John thought “games” like that were a waste to either watch or play when there were truer battles to be fought every day with life and death consequences.

“Football fan, I bet.”

“Nah, Gabriel,” Benny countered, cracking an egg into a bowl for emphasis. “Something tells me Dean’s more a rugby kind of guy. None of that pansy padding.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes dramatically. “Rugby’s hardly a sport!”

“Easy there!” Benny’s voice rumbled with false growl. “It's one of the best. A rogues’ game played by gentlemen!”

“Where does a Bayou boy pick up that sort of crap?”

Before Benny could retort, Gabriel let out a hoot, all thoughts of sports momentarily forgotten. “Hey! It’s my commercial!”

“Oh, hell,” Benny grumbled, turning his attention fully back to his batter. “Now we’re going to be hearing about this all night.”

“Ignore him, Dean. He’s just jealous,” Gabriel urged, directing Dean’s attention to the screen.

Dean hardly knew where to look, he was so over-stimulated, but in a good way. Everything seemed surreal: he was clothed like a real person, sitting in a chair, not chained on the floor. He was in a warm, clean house, now filled with the tantalizing smell of stew. Sports rumbling on a TV in the background, Benny and Gabriel including him in their conversation, sniping at each other like this was just a normal “guys night.”

It was nothing he had ever really experienced before, but something he’d longed for. And, something he’d long given up on any hopes of ever having.

“Watch, Dean. My part’s coming up!”

It was easy for Dean to follow Gabriel’s excited order. Far easier than sit with the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. So he focused intently on the TV. It was a Pepsi commercial. And while Gabriel designated it “his,” Dean imagined the sports icon doing most of the speaking might have viewed the spot differently.

There was no doubt, however, that Gabriel was in it. Dean recognized him right away, despite the coveralls and the handtruck of Pepsi cartons that obscured most of him.

However, even the novelty of seeing his newest, quirky caretaker on the big screen couldn’t keep Dean’s attention when the front door opened with a sigh of cool night air and Castiel stepped through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> And deep thanks to everyone who wrote such great comments at the last chapter and for those who followed after and kept urging me on here. 
> 
> Hoping your new year is filled with good friends, good health, and good stories.
> 
> Feral


	11. Crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Dok Happy New Year. 
> 
> Thank you for your sweet note. And to all the rest of you who have dropped comments over time encouraging.
> 
> How in the hell did two years pass? I could tell you lots of stories, but I won't. What I can say is for any of you still out there, I am going to do my best to reward your patience.
> 
> I have 2018 a writing year. And I fully intend to do my best to fulfill this resolution. I may not update as often as I'd like to, but I will update and with the intention of bringing these stories to completion.
> 
> Anyway... I am rejoining you with a relatively long chapter. It's kind of filler, kind of not. Groundwork being laid and all. After this, things will start moving faster.

The sheep were tucked into the lower pasture with their canine shepherds. Castiel had put his horse away, locked up the remaining dogs for the night, including a very distraught Ace. Poor old guy couldn’t understand why, after all these years of being his master’s shadow he’d been having to bunk down with the rest of the pack.

As he shut off the barn lights Castiel couldn’t help but feel guilty. But he hadn’t wanted to risk Ace up at the house. Not after what Dean had been through. Even more so now he’d seen the folder from Gabriel, Benny had left out for him to find. Lying innocuously on the table in the vet room it had offered no outward indication of the horrors it contained. A coward, he hadn’t been able to make it through more than the first page. That was enough to make his stomach knot, his chest leaden with anger.

Standing outside the barn he stared up at the cheery light of his house on the hill, Dean tucked inside it. He worried about the decision to keep him there. But the fact was, Dean would be more likely to get justice if Castiel had his way and followed things through.

Although he was also aware justice might not be what Dean really needed right now. Care was the more pressing issue. And he wasn’t so obtuse as to not realize Dean should be in a hospital somewhere, being helped by professionals. Bowing his head, Castiel prayed he and Benny would be able to do right by him and that everything would be okay in the end anyways.

Or at least as okay as they were likely to get.

Castiel locked up and left the barn behind him. As he walked, he was aware after his long day in the saddle of how his low back was stiff and his ass ached. Then he had to shoo away the thoughts creeping into the back of his mind, reminding him of other days when his butt had been a lot more tender and why.

Looking for almost anything else to focus on, his gaze fell on Gabriel’s vehicle. That his brother was back was an excellent distraction and his reflexive, exasperated sigh blew all the dangerous thoughts away with it. Then, with a second weary exhale he headed up the path to the house, wondering what sort of damage control he might be looking at with Gabriel’s return. His gut twisted tight.

With Dean there was no telling just how wrong things could go.

The sun had faded, night was falling fast and so was the temperature. Castiel watched the thickening wisps of his breath form and fall.

Usually his favorite days were those when he rode with the herd and left they him invigorated at their end. There was nothing like being among the animals out in the vast expanse of the landscape.

While trapped within his claustrophobic concrete prison cell or the mental hospital’s white-walled rooms, he’d lost count of how many times he’d imagined days like today, being able to revel in the endless sky stretched above him. The sounds of the animals movements surrounding him, the quiet creak of Caleb’s saddle, and the occasional sharp bark of his dogs had always been his music.

And having endured years of being locked away breathing air filled with the musk of men, their anger and despair, there was still nothing sweeter now than to take a deep breath and find only sage, snow, scrub pine, and sheep. Yeah, if anyone had ever asked him to paint them a picture of heaven, that would have been it.

Since being released, every time he mounted Caleb and headed out, he offered thanks to God that he’d been granted another chance to experience it. Today, however, the quiet peace that came out on the range had been elusive.The alert but meditative space he usually fell into moving his flocks difficult to attain, his thoughts continually circling back around to Dean.

He needed to keep focused on the ranch, his responsibilities, but leaving the boy alone wasn’t sitting well with him. Even more now, learning some of the truth of what he’d endured. The anxiety Castiel felt and his eagerness to see Dean again weren’t sensations he was used to either. 

 _Well, at least not directed towards another human being_.

Castiel mulled all this over this as he climbed up the hill. But when he stepped through the front door and was immediately met with Dean’s green gaze all his anxious thoughts and his tiredness fell away.

Seeing the boy up and out of his room surprised him. After finding him in the closet earlier, he figured it would be weeks, maybe months for Dean to feel safe enough to venture beyond the bedroom. The kid was tough, alright.

Though he didn’t smile, Castiel’s eyes beamed. “Good evening, Dean. It is good to see you up.”

Dean dipped his head, pink creeping up on his cheeks. The was a subtle uncurving of his shoulders at Castiel’s pleased tone.

“Leave it to you to show up and distract from my glory!” Gabriel shouted out in greeting from his spot on the sofa.

Castiel tipped his head to the side. “What?”

“My commercial was on. And then you come in and distract the kid. Dean missed the best part!”

It took Castiel a moment to tear his eyes away from the way the boy kept flickering shy glances up at him. When he finally did it was to frown at his brother.

“Mmmm… I am sure it will be on again.”

After pulling off his boots and setting them by the front door, he stepped across the room. Still careful of not moving too quickly, he made his way to the side of Dean’s chair. Seeing Gabriel still in a huff he couldn’t help but poke at him.

“Dean, if Gabriel told you that being in that commercial is how someone keeps a ‘low profile,’ do not believe him.”

Gabriel picked up a pillow from the couch and looked like he might hurl it, but catching the way Dean instantly shrunk back into his chair, he set it back down and opted for glaring instead.

“Sometimes the best place to hide is right out in the open!”

Castiel ignored him and picked up a candy wrapper from the table beside Dean. He looked over to Gabriel again, his frown even deeper.

“What? Everybody needs a little sweetness!” Gabriel exclaimed. “And it’s not like a few pieces of candy are going to kill him.”

“I told you he wouldn’t be happy…” Benny called from the kitchen.

Gabriel twisted to shout over the back of the couch. “Whose side are you on?”

“No one’s, brother.” Benny peered out from behind a cupboard door as he pulled out the flour for his biscuits.

Castiel ignored Gabriel's wounded noises and turned his attention to Dean.

“Have you been sitting out here long?”

Dean responded to the question with a look of panic and Castiel immediately understood he was afraid he’d done something wrong. 

“I’m happy to see you out, like I said,” he was quick to soothe. “I was just curious.”  

Dean’s body language stayed taut, but not quite as quivering as before. He was clearly struggling with how to silently answer when Gabriel swept in for the save.

“A couple hours.”

Hearing this Castiel’s brow furrowed anew, worried about Dean getting too stiff. Given the extent of his injuries, sitting in particular, especially without shifting, would become painful.

“Have you moved much or have you been in that same position?”

Dean dropped his eyes and gave a hesitant shrug of his shoulders. He looked over at Gabriel.

Castiel shot his brother a stern look. “You should make sure he moves a little bit every half hour or so, at least.”

Just for a moment it seemed like Gabriel was going snap back for getting orders on how to treat a patient he hadn’t intended to take on, but he closed his mouth when Castiel moved Dean’s wheelchair over and ushered the boy into it.

Though shaking Dean didn’t hesitate to obey. It was clear to all in the room from the way he moved just how stiff he was; his pale muzzled-marked face set in a concentrated frown as he fought not to grimace.

“I’m going to take you to the bathroom. Okay, Dean?” Castiel wanted Dean to know he wasn’t in trouble. The way he’d hunched in on himself once he’d painfully settled into his chair told him the boy was expecting the worst.

“Once we get you squared away You can come back out if you like and we will get you re-situated.” The hopeful apprehension in Dean’s eyes made his heart clench.

While Castiel wheeled Dean away, Gabriel got up and moved over to the table where he’d left the bags he’d brought up. From where he was rolling out his biscuits, Benny nodded in approval seeing the boxes for an iPad and a new cell phone emerge. He watched Gabriel pull these out and plug both in to start charging.

“That will be helpful for him. Until he starts talking.”

Gabriel looked up from what he was doing. “You think he will? I mean it would help a hell of a lot.”

Benny shrugged his broad shoulders. “When he’s ready. Though even then, who knows what he’ll be willing to talk about.”

Gabriel’s natural smirk slipped for a minute and his face grew sober. He turned his attention back to the devices. “This is a lot of money to spend on a _temporary_ _guest_. One who shouldn’t be here to start with. You think Cassie knows he can’t keep him?”

Benny didn’t bother to answer that question. He just hummed noncommittally and resumed cutting out his dough. He stopped when Gabriel lifted a plastic-wrapped item out of the bag and set it aside.

 “Gabriel, is that one of Castiel’s drinking glasses?”

“Duh.” Gabriel rolled his eyes as though what he was doing with his brother’s kitchenware self-obvious. “I needed Dean’s fingerprints for my sleuthing.”

He ducked, but not fast enough when a wad of floured dough came flying through the air. It splatted against his cheek.

“Hey!”

“There’s ways you could have lifted Dean’s prints and left that glass here. You know how Castiel gets!” Benny huffed. “He’s been going on for the past days about its disappearance!”

Even more than his brother’s right hand Gabriel understood how OCD Castiel could be, and what a missing glass in his cupboard might do to him. Wiping flour and biscuit from his face he beamed up at Benny, his smiled wicked.

“I know.”

Benny flicked another wad of dough at him.

___________________________

 In the bathroom, it took some maneuvering to get Dean settled on the john. Clearly he had been left sitting in one spot way too long.

When Castiel pulled down his pullup, Dean made an unhappy noise seeing that there was some mess there. Benny had been clear he wasn’t likely to be able to really control his bowels for quite a while given the extent of his injuries. Still, the flush of his cheeks didn’t diminish when Castiel assured him he shouldn’t worry.

After helping Dean out of his dirty undergarment Castiel left him to sit for a few moments alone. Giving him privacy in case he needed to do anything else. When he returned with a fresh Depends, he was surprised by Dean offering him his cell phone.

Taking it, he saw a message typed for him.

_I txted someone. Bobby. he txted back._

He’d left his phone with Dean for a reason, but still, knowing he’d used it made Castiel’s belly tight.

“Is that a parent, Dean?” He made sure to his tone even. A strange expression fell over Dean’s face and he shook his head. When he made a tentative gesture for the phone Castiel passed it back.

_Uncle. tol him im ok but I need 2 call Bobby be4 10pm._

Though still uneasy it delighted Castiel that Dean was communicating. More so that the boy had someone he trusted enough to reach out to. It could be tricky to maneuver but he was already fully committed to getting Dean back where it would be best for him.

“Of course. After dinner maybe?”

It was so painful how hesitant Dean looked as he nodded. Cheeks growing pink he typed out another message.

_You help me? Plz._

“Of course Dean. However I can.”

Dean offered Castiel his phone back again but the man just shook his head and indicated he should hold on to it.

“For now. In case you want to tell me something more. Okay?”

As he set the phone down Dean couldn’t help but wonder if he was dreaming again. He felt this way so far pretty much every time he interacted with Benny and Castiel, Gabriel too. They were so kind to him even in his fucked up state.

Speaking of fucked up, however, Dean knew he wasn’t drifting off is some ethereal realm when Castiel started attending to him again: cleaning him up, getting a new diaper on him. No, gentle as his new guardian was, that was definitely more like a nightmare.

All Dean could do was duck his head and silently endure. Something he’d had way too much practice with. And when Cas had to touch him where his worst physical wounding was to make sure he stayed clean, washing him thoroughly and applying salve to stave off infection, Dean was almost proud of himself that even as the memories flooded him at the attention paid to his nethers, he hardly shook at all.

Mortifying as it was  not to be able to do the simplest things, he stayed pliant. By the time they were done finally he had started shaking again, however, this time it was from exhaustion. His weakened limbs were so spent Castiel had pick him up and get him back into his chair. Tired as he felt Dean didn’t want to be left alone so he was grateful when Cas delivered back out into the main room.

Gabriel had started a fire in the hearth and came to help Castiel get their ward re-situated. He’d even found another blanket to drape over Dean until the fire’s heat really kicked in. Dean was almost completely settled when Benny joined them.

With the three men so close, towering over him, his body unconsciously stiffened. Fortunately Benny noticed and took a few steps back before he handed the soft fabric bag in his hands over to Castiel. Then to make space he headed back to the kitchen.

“What’s this?”

Turning what appeared to be a long beanbag over in his hands Castiel’s head tipped to the side in what Dean had determined was his characteristic gesture of inquiry.

“Rice bag.” Benny called back. “Don’t want our buddy getting too stiff.”

“Benny put it on my list,” Gabriel added. “Might start with his lower back.”

“Dean?”

In response to Castiel’s one word inquiry, Dean leaned forward in his chair. His nostrils caught a fragrant rice scent as the bag was brought closer and the second it was settled at the base of his spine, the moist heat that flooded his muscles there left him all but purring.

Settling back against it, he watched with heavy eyes as Castiel excused himself to take a shower. Benny continued to rattle around the kitchen, mumbling to himself in something that sounded like French. Meanwhile, Gabriel returned to stoking his fire until he was satisfied with it, before plopping back down on the couch to grumble at the TV again.

The energy in this house, among these three men was so different than anything he’d ever experienced. Even if the refuge of Bobby’s place uneasy, dark energies always seemed to be simmering just under the surface.

And with his Dad and Sam…

Dean dipped his head and closed his eyes trying to will the new tears away.

Years… Years of walking on eggshells, knowing that horrors could happen at any minute. Not just the last two years of his bitched life, although these had surely been the worst of them.

As if to underscore this John’s voice rang out in his head.

_What the fuck are you doing Bitch? You don’t belong in chair. A dog should be at her master’s feet._

_Enjoy it now cause they’ll get tired of playing dress up with you, pup._

Chest threatening to collapse under the crush of these words, these fears, Dean focused on the heat in his back, the ache in his un-mittened hands. He fought to regulate his breathing, hoping to god he didn’t lose it. He was not gonna make a scene. Nothing that might lose him the privilege of being out of his room, where thoughts like this weighed so much heavier and John’s voice rang so much louder.

_Once they see what you really are you’re gonna end up back on a leash, likely on the end of a cock too. Mark my words…_

_It’s just a matter of time._

The hot rice bag, the drone of the TV, Benny’s rough humming in the kitchen. Dean tried to push everything from his mind but these, hoping his benefactors, if they looked at him, would think  he was just dozing and not on the brink of a “bitch fit”, as John called his breakdowns.

Castiel emerged from the shower fifteen minutes later, pink-skinned, dressed in gray sweats and black t-shirt. He stepped into the kitchen where Benny was laying out the last of the dinner fixings. Blue eyes shifted to the front room. Gabriel’s latest sugar high had presumably ended. His brother’s tawny head was tipped over the back of the couch. Mouth open, softly snoring.

Shifting to Dean he saw he was dozing too. At least it looked that way until he noticed how tightly bandaged hands were gripping the blankets. Before he had a chance to go over to the boy, Benny spoke.

“Everything’s Ready. Wanna clear the table, Boss?” 

Castiel’s gaze drifted to the table. He frowned looking at the un-put-away contents from Gabriel’s shopping bags. He picked up the plastic wrapped glass.

“Is this?..”

“It is,” Benny rumbled pulling bowls from the cupboards. He followed it up with, “Fingerprints.”

“I see.” Castiel carefully carried his wayward kitchenware to the sink and unwrapped it, so it could be washed.

“You see the folder too?”

“Not all… Enough for now.” Castiel rinsed the glass thoroughly, scrubbed it out and put it in the dishwasher. He wasn’t normally a fan of modern comforts, but he liked to know things were clean. “We can talk about it later.”

“Sure, Boss. Whatever you say.” Benny nodded to the table again. “So?”

Castiel paused. “Maybe we eat on trays in the front room? That chair is probably more comfortable for Dean than his wheelchair or these wooden ones?”

Knowing Castiel was a man of routines and schedules, who liked things just so, Benny had to chuckle at the question in his boss’ voice. In the years they had been taking meals together, he could count on one hand the number of times they hadn’t eaten at the table.

“Whatever you say, Chief. You pull the trays, I’ll load up the bowls.”

His second’s hearty assurance soothing the anxiety that had spiked at suggesting such a deviation, Castiel went to the pantry to pull out his grandfather’s TV trays.

“Uh… Benny.”

“Ummm?”

“Dean called someone… Or… more correctly texted.”

Stopping mid-ladle Benny looked over to where Dean looked to be napping and dropped his voice. He still wasn't ready to believe what Gabriel had told him, wondered if Castiel had read enough of the file to get to that.

“He got a mama out there somewhere?”

“Uncle,” Castiel offered as he snapped a tray together.

“Good to know he’s got someone. You gonna talk to this guy?”

“Dean is supposed to call to him later. After Dinner. But I did say I would help him communicate.”

As usual Castiel’s face was all but expressionless, but Benny saw the worried light in his eyes. He was going to make sure his boss was totally up to speed before he spoke to anyone about Dean.

“We’ll no use fretting over what hasn’t happened yet. Though, I say we don’t give him back to anyone until we know they’re going to take good care of him.”

He turned back to finish his bowls but not before catching the way Castiel’s tense shoulders eased at his comment.

  ----------------------------

 “Dean…”

Dean slowly opened his eyes. His anxiety had lessened somewhat but his still- clenched fists hadn't relaxed until the sound of Castiel’s voice. The clean, soapy-sweet smell as the man drew close too was somehow immediately soothing.

Once Castiel had him shift positions, he pulled the tray alongside Dean's chair.

“This is for you and Benny is bringing some stew over.” Castiel’s expression was uncomfortable. “He said you could have that and the biscuits too but you need to be sure to chew everything thoroughly.”

Dean was so pleased to see the TV tray, even better Benny coming up bearing a bowl and a _spoon_!, that it took him a minute to catch Castiel’s intent with these directions.

_Of course chew good cause whatever goes in has to come out._

Smelling the rich broth and seeing two beautiful biscuits after days of protein shakes Dean wasn’t going to linger in embarrassment, however. He nodded vigorously, his stomach seconding this with an audible growl.

“Good man,” Benny smiled before leaning over to push Gabriel’s feet off the coffee table and wake him up. Gabriel came to in a flurry of limbs.

 “What?!” 

“Dinner.” Castiel set a tray alongside his brother. Gabriel rubbed his eyes.

“I must be dreaming right? Dinner in front of the TV and you’re going to join us?” He blinked up at Castiel.

 Seeing his brother’s nod he shot a smile over at Dean. “I think I might wanna keep you around squirt. You’re some kind of miracle worker.”

“Are you implying I am rigid?” Castiel moved his own tray over and settled somewhat uneasily at the other side of the couch.

 “And you’re being sarcastic too?” Gabriel shook his head in wonder. Then seeing his brother’s face he laughed. “Okay, so you are probably being serious, but I’m going to pretend otherwise. And in honor of your attempt at humor, I’m even going to let you pick what we watch next.

“Bet we can find an episode of Dr. Sexy playing somewhere.” Gabriel pulled up the guide. He looked over at Dean and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “It’s this cheesy medical show and Cassie has a crush on the main doctor guy.”

“Gabriel…” There was a warning in the way Benny said his name, the big man having settled himself in an armchair across the room from Dean.

 Dean did a quick read of the room, Benny looked disproving, Castiel solemn and uneasy, and Gabriel exasperated.

 “What’s your problem, Benny? Cassie’s been out since middle school.”

 “Still doesn’t mean he might not like to offer such personal information himself instead of having you announce it.” Benny was looking pointedly between Castiel and Dean as he growled this.

“It’s okay, Benny…” Castiel broke in on his own behalf. “I am gay, Dean. I hope that is not going to make you too uncomfortable now to know this. I mean, with me helping you.

"And if it does… We can work around that.”

Being the sudden focus of everyone’s attention made Dean suddenly very uncomfortable. Harder still to take was the look on Castiel’s normally impassive face: simultaneously anxious and apologetic.

Dean understood Benny’s upset. Gabriel was a dick to out his brother like that, even if he hadn’t meant any ill by it. And he could figure out why Castiel was worried, when the nature of his wounding was so evident.

But so far, Castiel had only been kind and careful with him. And as for him being gay, well even with everything he’d been through, the fact that Cas liked guys didn’t mean anything really as far as Dean was concerned.

John would have never called himself gay and he’d still fucked women for as long as he’d been fucking Dean. And most of the guys who were at the “parties” Dean had been the entertainment for left off watching and or fucking him to go back to wives and girlfriends.

Reaching into his pocket, Dean pulled out the phone and typed a couple text lines.

_Gld u know who u r Cas. Its no problem. Reely._

 It was the truth and more than Dean could say about himself.

 Gabriel took the phone and glanced down at it, his expression guilty, at least until he saw the words.

 “You’re okay, kid.” He murmured.

Dean hardly heard this though, too intent on watching Castiel’s expression. It had been well worth the effort of typing, the way the man’s features softened when he read the text.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Alright, ladies, my stew’s getting cold,” Benny broke in. “And you aren’t going to properly rave about it, if it’s not eaten at the right temperature.”

With that, everything smoothed out quickly. Cass passed Dean’s phone back after typing in a smile emoji which both surprised Dean and made him snort. Instead of Dr. Sexy, Gabriel pulled up an old Star Trek marathon. Teasing his brother as he did that Castiel should enjoy it because he’d find Spock relatable.

Then everyone fell to eating, the room filling with appreciative hums. Though he tried keep quiet, Dean’s were the loudest. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something that had tasted so good.

He’d felt a little apprehensive about the stew at first, since John had fed him a lot of dollar store Dinty Moore, cold out of the can, because it looked so close to dogfood. The man had tried real dog food at first, of course, but stopped when it had made him super sick. John didn’t like his bitch to be under the weather.

But this? Rich and savory and real. The beef in it was so tender, fresh carrots and red potatoes. Dean worked hard to follow Castiel’s gentle order, chewing until his teeth hurt, but exercising this amount of restraint was difficult. He wanted to inhale it. And the biscuits, drenched with real butter where Benny had split them melted in his mouth.

“Think you got a fan there, Lafitte.”

Benny grinned at Dean and came over to pick up his empty bowl after Gabriel’s comment. A broad smile on his handsome face.

“Want a little more there, sport?”

Dean’s face must have reflected his incredulous stomach’s “Yes!”  Because Benny chuckled and headed off to the kitchen to re-fill his bowl before he even had the chance to nod.

Dean’s belly filled with delicious food, Benny rummaging happily in the kitchen, Cas and Gabriel on the couch fraternally bickering about about plot points, the world seemed to spin in harmony in that instant.

Of course, for Dean this was always the moment that the universe pulled the rug out on him. Later, in the quiet of his room, he’d curse himself for so stupidly letting his guard down because unfortunately, today wasn’t going to be any different.

A dog’s frantic barking shattered the house's bliss. This was followed by a mad scrabbling of nails on the front screen door.

“Ace!”

Castiel jumped up from the couch, shoving his tray aside, toppling his water glass in the process. He bolted to the door to grab his dog, but the moment he opened it, Ace darted in.

The dog had somehow managed to escape both the kennel and the barn. The escapade had clearly invigorated him and soon as he was inside the collie became a flurry of fur, whipping its body around. Wagging its tail and continuing to bark Ace skillfully evaded Castiel’s attempts to catch him.

Then Ace saw Dean, the only stranger here amongst the crew. Maybe he recognized Dean from the trailer, regardless, the dog began barking furiously and not in its previously playful tones.

Gabriel knocked his own tray over as he reached out and grabbed Ace’s collar as it lunged Dean’s direction.

When the dog’s barks had first sounded, Dean froze. Externally at least. Inside a thousand memories of kennels, back alley bars, and dog fights flooded him. Adrenaline dumped into his bloodstream, his breath caught even as his heart rate skyrocketed.

Suddenly he wasn’t in the ranch house any more. Where he was, he had no idea, but what he did know was this, he was a bitch and this stud had come to take what it wanted. And Benny, Cas, and Gabriel’s shouts in the chaos became the rough cheers of all John’s patrons, the men who paid to watch his bitch’s pussy swallow a knot.

His skin crawled at the thought of heated fur rubbing against it, the painful scratch of scrabbling claws. And his healing ass clenched tight at the memory of pummeling cocks, the tearing pain of knot after knot.

  _No... no... no… Not this… Not again… I can’t..._

Only this time Dean wasn’t bound, his hands weren’t mittened, there was no gag or muzzle. And _fuck the consequences_ , this was one bitch who didn’t want to be bred! 

A raw animal sound of anguish tore from Dean’s throat. His limbs burst into action despite the way his atrophied muscles screamed in protest. He threw himself out of the chair and landed on the floor with a heavy thunk.

He’d not recovered from how this jarred alls his aches before he began a mad four-limbed scramble towards the door of his bedroom. Moving like a crab, not crawling, since that would leave his ass vulnerable, Dean hustled until his back hit the wood of the closed bedroom door.

He turned only enough to grab the knob, but his stiff fingers couldn’t get an adequate hold to twist it. Uncaring of the damage to his healing hands, Dean let go and slammed his fists against it repeatedly.

Though he was too far gone to know it, moment he’d howled all the other commotion in the room had stopped. Ace had fallen immediately silent and backed up, hackles raised, as far from Dean as Gabriel’s grip allowed.

“Get Ace out of here, now! And make sure he can't get out again!"

For once Gabriel brokered no quarrel with his brother’s orders. Keeping a firm grip in the collie’s collar he drug Ace out of the house, making sure to close the door securely behind him.

“Benny.”

“Already on it, Boss.” The big man darted down the hall to another empty bedroom where he kept all the medical supplies they’d been using for Dean.

Castiel picked up one of the blankets and moved slowly up to the frantic boy. He called out softly, though it was clear Dean wasn’t hearing him. Wasn’t hearing anything but whatever internal hell he was trapped in at the moment.

Dean felt Castiel's approach though and his pounding, bloody hands fell limply down to his sides. His lean torso heaved with broken, open mouthed sobs.

He’d been bad. He was a bad bitch. He’d tried to get away from his duties and now he was going to be punished. His breeding memories were replaced with even worse torments. Past punishments rolled on a reel before his eyes.

 _John will make me go through training again…_ At this, Dean bent over and vomited up everything he’d eaten on the hardwood floor below him.

He choked on his sobs and the burn in his throat, knowing this was just one more offense. A terrible desperation filled him along with the realization he had to show he was sorry now before he made things any worse than they already were. He had to show he knew how wrong he’d been. Prove that he was eager to be a good girl again. Throw himself on his masters’ mercy.

Though that had never seemed to help him before.

Bitches didn’t use people words, so Dean tried to tell his looming owner how sorry he was by offering his most contrite whines. It was hard to do because at the same time he couldn’t manage to stop crying.

He fell forward onto his knees, his useless, bloody fingers scrabbling to gather his vomit and gulp it back down. That would show John and Sam he was sorry, rejecting his stud was one thing but to reject their meal, when they were taking care of him was a whole other.

Dean’s whine turned into a wail when he realized he was still messing things up. He’d failed. A bitch wouldn’t use her paws. He was worse than bad,he was terrible.

He dropped on the floor to his belly and stuck his nose in his mess, unmindful of the odor or the acidic tang of it. He’d lick the floor clean, cleaner than it had been, maybe that would at least appease them a little.

Loud voices boomed above him, but Dean didn’t register words: dog’s went by tones mostly, Sam had told him. He didn’t pause to think about how contradictory this thought was, too busy cringing away from the hands coming down to grab him.

He didn’t fight this time. He just kept whining. In his mind he was telling them over and over how he knew he'd fucked up. That he could be a good bitch again for them.

_I promise... I promise... just please... don't hurt me too bad... Please..._

A heavy blanket was dropped over him, and strong arms gathered him up. They wrapped around him not meanly, but clearly in a manner meant to restrain. Dean stayed still, though his body shook and his chest juddered with his breaths.

He felt a tug and a second pair of hands and realized when the air hit his skin his hip had been bared. _Clothes too?_ His scrambled mind flailed about wondering when he’d committed that travesty. He felt a cold swab on his skin.

_How many days will John leave me strapped to the bench this time? Will Sam use the baseball bat on me again?_

Dean sobbed at these thoughts and the pinch of the needle, feeling the instant hot, heavy, flush hit his veins. He tasted metal and knew he was going down for the count. His mind spun to when they’d bitch clipped him and he’d woken up without his balls.

As his world faded to black, he wondered when he came back up this time what else he might be missing.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't blame you if you're too annoyed with me to comment, but I always have loved hearing from you.
> 
> Also, if have re-read this to refresh your memory, you may notice I changed some of the details around the underage stuff. That was bothering me before and, I realized, one of the internal hurdles keeping me from this fic. So I have shifted things to ease my conscience a bit. So there's that.
> 
> Anyway....
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	12. Descents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter for you. I am going to try to write one update a month for this fic. *fingers crossed*
> 
> I can't tell you how overwhelmed I was when the last chapter posted at all the responses I received from both old and new readers.Thank you so much for making it so welcoming to slip back into this fic.
> 
> You guys are so amazing.
> 
> A quick P.S. 
> 
> There are some distressing underage things in this chapter related to Adam, but I promise it's all in the guise of trying to save him. Please trust me...

It was close to midnight when Adam finished drying the last of the dinner dishes. Still not used to the Winchester’s largely nocturnal lifestyle, his bruised body hummed with fatigue. Eying the plates as he set them into their unlocked cabinet, not for the first time he wondered if he could wield a mortal blow with a stoneware shard. 

His thin fingers trembled considering the possible outcomes. Success or failure… Neither would come without a high cost. He dropped his head and tears filled his eyes once more at both the loss of his mother and the hell her death had dropped him into.

He’d never liked John Winchester. Though John showered his mom with attention whenever he found the time for her, he had been always been testy with him, harsh at times.The man’s arrival at their home growing up always made Adam’s stomach hurt with nerves, knowing he’d be walking on eggshells for the duration of the visit and then, once John was gone again, frantically working to cheer his despondent mother up after.  But even in his darkest imaginings he had never considered John was anywhere as evil as he’d turned out to be. 

Adam set his hand over his nipple, still purple from when it had been pinched at lunch.

The man who called himself his father was getting more extreme every day. The way things were going, especially now Dean was gone, Adam knew his ass was literally one the line; it was just a matter of time. And given what he’d already seen, being raped would likely not be the worst of it.

Turning off the kitchen light, he stood in the dark and listened. The bunker was remarkably quiet. It had been far louder that afternoon when John had pulled Sam out of his room to punish him. They had shouted and fought and there was the crashing of furniture when they physically clashed. Then the sound of leather against skin when John had finally subdued Sam and whaled the tar out him.

Frightened as he’d been, Adam was sad when the noise stopped at last: he’d kind of hoped the two Winchester’s would kill each other. He rubbed his bare arms and shivered. He hated them both. 

His half-brother was just as fucked up as their father but added to it, there was natural darkness about Sam that chilled Adam to the core. That Sam despised him wasn’t lost on him either. And Adam knew he was in even greater danger from Sam now than he had been before now too. 

That night at dinner, the way Sam had stared at him, shifting in his seat, constantly wincing, while Adam served him, told him his older half-brother totally blamed him for the beating.

Looking out past the door, Adam checked to see if the coast was clear. Sam had supposedly been banished back to his room after their meal, but that didn’t mean the asshole wasn’t lurking about somewhere. The guy was a sneaky fuck when he wanted to be.

Knowing what else was already waiting for him, even if he didn’t run into Sam, Adam didn’t really want to leave the kitchen. But John had told him to come find him once he’d finished his chores and already he’d learned too well what happened when his father’s instructions weren’t followed. If John thought he was purposefully stalling, it would only make things worse.

Creeping along on bare feet, the bunker’s cold floor made Adam’s teeth chatter. He clamped his jaw tight to quiet them. Hugging the walls, all his senses on high alert, he made his way to the library where John had retired.

The door was open and the man sat at a dark wood desk, a fire crackling in the fireplace behind him. John was entirely focused on the book he was reading. Research for whatever he was preparing to hunt next, the text he was engrossed in was thick and dusty looking. No doubt full of spells and lore. 

Before she died, Adam would have laughed at the notion John hunted monsters when he wasn’t fucking his mom. He knew better now. 

And who the biggest monster really was.

Watching his captor reading, he ran through his plan in his mind again. Over the last weeks as his father’s prisoner, he had spent hours poring over all his memories of the man, trying to figure some way to survive this.  Survive and not end up like either of his miserable half- brothers.

His scheme was a desperate one and he didn’t know for sure if he could go through with it or not. But with the way things were going he was running out of other options. Adam drew a deep breath, loud enough to catch John’s notice. When his father’s dark eyes flickered up to meet his, he steeled himself. He forced a small smile onto his lips and walked into the room.

“You finish those dishes, Addy?”

Adam nodded, his fingers traveling to the back of the apron to untie the knot. As soon as it was loose he sloughed out of it before John could ask him too. The heat of the fire warmed his bare skin.

“Yes, sir.”

He stepped up to John as the man pushed himself back from the desk. Again, without being ordered, he set a hand on John’s thigh, asking for permission to climb on his lap. John gave a pleased grunt and nodded, scooting a little father back from the desk. 

Adam noticed a silver letter opener on the desktop and John’s cell phone, but he forced his gaze not to linger as he climbed up. The chair was wide enough he was able to straddle John’s thighs. 

He hated how it felt, the brush of his bare ass, his clenched adolescent balls and flaccid cock against the denim. Still, he pressed forward, rutting slightly against John’s clothed lap. He pushed his father’s open flannel shirt aside and untucked his tee-shirt with shaking fingers. 

John had leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting between curious and aroused by this behavior.

“What are you doing there, Pup?” He gave a light hiss as cool hands snuck under his tee-shirt and pressed to his hairy belly.

“Cold, Daddy.” Adam made sure to keep his voice sweet although touching John sent a shiver of revulsion up his spine.

“That so?” Reading the tremor as affirmation of his boy’s words John caught Adam’s narrow hips in his hands and rubbed up and down the sides of his narrow torso. “Want me to warm you up?”

Adam leaned forward tucking his nose into the side of his neck so his father wouldn’t see his terror. He mumbled into the scruff just under an unshaven jaw, “yes, please.”

He tried not to tense as John shifted beneath him and went almost limp with relief when the man merely shucked out of his flannel shirt and draped it over his shoulders.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

His relief was short lived, however, as John hummed and large hands resumed roving over his skin. Adam bit his lip to hold back a sob when fingers settled on his bruised ass and began to knead this tender flesh. Then one of these slipped between the crack of his ass to rasp against his hole.

“Daddy, you liked my mama right?”

His terror was so thick Adam could hardly choke the words out. But the second he said them the finger touching his pucker stilled and then withdrew.

“This is hardly the time to bring her up, Adam.” 

John’s voice was dark and dangerous but Adam couldn’t stop now that he started. He pressed a kiss to John’s neck. And then another, this time with a little lick attached to it. John’s hands left his ass and grabbed his arms, pushing him back so he could look him in the eye.

“What’s this about?”

“Mamma loved you.” Adam tried to hold his gaze but the fury in John’s eyes made him drop his head. “She never had any other guys around, Daddy. You know that right.”

He didn’t have to look at John’s face to know what he said pleased. Staring down as he was he could see the unconscious puff of his father’s chest.

“You didn’t answer my question, Addy.” The edge was still present but there was something else there too and the hard grip on his arms eased.

Adam looked up. “You were always so nice to her…” He saw the clouds filling dark eyes again and rushed on. “I want that, Daddy.” It wasn’t acting when tears started rolling down his cheeks. “I don’t want to be a pup. _Please._ I don’t want to belong to Sam either...”

He leaned forward and John let him. Adam nuzzled back under the scruffy jaw, glad his tears were there to camouflage his next lie.

“I just want to belong to you, Daddy. Like Mama did. No one else.” Though it sickened him he lifted his head and stretched to press a kiss at the corner of John’s mouth. “I wanna be treated nice like she was. You made her so happy. She wanted to be good for you.”

John’s hands had found his hips again and Adam frotted lightly against the bulge that had swelled up there. He straightened and whispered against John’s lips as he peppered them with what he hoped seemed like eager kisses.

“Not a pup, Daddy. Please… I wanna be your l-lady. Just yours, like mama was. No one else’s. I promise… I’ll be a g-good g-girl for you.

With these last words Adam slipped his tongue between his father’s parted lips. John growled in pleasure, slicking his own back. A hand left Adam’s hips and caught the back of his neck, holding him in place as John began ravishing his mouth.

Though he wanted to choke on the thick, beer-tasting tongue plundering him, Adam stayed lax, passive, accepting whatever attention his captor chose to give him. 

“You wanna be my good girl, eh?” John rumbled between kisses. Then his hand on the back of Adam’s neck ran through the hair at the back of the boy’s neck and twisted. He pulled Adam back by this and studied him hard.

“I do, Daddy.” Adam gasped at the sting of his pulled hair, his eyes filling with fresh tears. 

Though he still didn’t have more than peach fuzz he promised, “I’ll shave my legs for you… Whatever you want. Be soft and smooth. I want you to dress me up too. Like in those pretty things in Mama’s top dresser drawer.”

The effect these words had on John were instantaneous. The suspicion in his eyes shifted to something greedy and lecherous. “You saw those frillies, did you Addy. Liked them?”

Too scared by the heat in his father’s gaze to give a proper answer, Adam just nodded. Or at least nodded as best he could with the big hand still caught in his hair. John’s eye’s traveled over him in a way that made Adam’s limp cock shrivel more.

“I can cook and clean for you. Take care of you and Sam… But only you in special ways…”

“You wanna be my little woman, huh, Baby?”

Adam had started to nod again but the bottom fell out of his stomach when John continued. “Yeah, I might like that. But tell me Addy… How far are you willing to go to please your Daddy?

John’s hand dropped to Adam’s cock and squeezed cruelly. “This isn’t so big yet.” The big hand holding his penis shifted to gather his balls as well, crushing them both together, making the boy whimper.

“I snip you now like I did Dean, this’ll stay just like a big fat clitty. You won’t need to shave either, ever. And it’ll keep your voice high and light.”

Chuckling as he warmed to the idea, John held Adam in place by his genitals while his other hand reached up. He swiped a broad thumb over Adam’s bruised nipple. “I can get you shots that make these swell naturally.”

Adam squeaked in terror-filled pain as his sore nub was pinched again. “Turn you into a real little lady for me. You want that Addy? Do you? Cause I can get out my surgical kit and we can start tonight.”

His plan had taken a twist Adam was completely unprepared for and he cursed himself for not considering John might do this. After all, the man had cut Dean’s balls off and as much as he’d bragged about his “pretty bitch” he had done this clearly without compunction. 

Horror at the very real possibility John could and would do this to him turned Adam’s core to ice. It took every ounce of his resolve not to hurl himself away from the monster holding him. But the one thing he had determined recently, was that more than anything, John Winchester loved and craved total submission.

Crying messily, he hiccupped. “Y-yeah, D-d-daddy. If that makes you h-happy. I wanna be your g-good girl.” He could hardly get the words out for his sobs. 

So lost in his terror he hardly felt it when the bruising hands released him and cupped his jaw. John gently lifted his head. When his tear blurred eyes finally cleared enough to see his father’s face, Adam was shocked by the soft look he saw there.

“Really, Addy?”

Adam nodded furiously if only to keep the tender expression on his father’s face. John broke into a wide grin and attempted to smooth away his tears with swipes of his broad thumbs.

“I knew your mama was good stock, but I never knew how good until now.” John leaned in and kissed all over Adam’s face. Adam stayed completely pliant, continuing to softly cry as he submitted.

“You’re gonna be the perfect child for me, Addy.” John left off his kissing, his eyes wide with a fevered wonder. “I have hope for you. Mary failed me… Left me with two wild curs to manage… But a daughter…. Daughters are always better at honoring their parents than sons.

“I believe that.”

“Yes, Daddy…” Adam whispered although his affirmation went unnoticed as John rolled on, too lost in his twisted fantasies now. “You’re gonna be my perfect, baby. My little girl. My wife…” John’s ramble was caught off as his phone began ringing.

In a flash, Adam found himself roughly grabbed and turned around. His back now pressed to John’s chest. His father’s big hand was at his neck, gripping his throat, threatening to cut off his air. Adam set his hands atop John’s but didn’t try to pull it off, no matter how much his  instincts screamed at him to struggle.

John’s tone was hard again as his grip released just enough for Adam to draw a small wheezy breath. “Let’s see you show your daddy what a good girl you are, huh, Addy?”

Adam watched with wide eyes as his father reached for his phone with his free hand and answered it.

“Hey, Bobby. Twice in one day.  What’s up? Or did you just realize how much you missed me after we talked this afternoon?” 

As John talked, Adam forced his hands to drop and made his arms go limp at his sides. He was rewarded with John’s grip on his throat easing just a little more. From where he sat, Adam caught both sides of the conversation.

“Yeah, John. Look. I hate to put you off, but I’ve been called up on a hunt. It’s an emergency situation.”

“Oh? Whatcha looking at?”

“Vamp’s nest. A big one. There’s kids involved. It’s a mess.”

“Need me and Sam to come help? We're a little more agile than you are, old man...” John’s hand loosened just a little bit further and Adam fought to keep his breathing quiet even though his burning lungs begged for him to gasp.

“Nah, nah. There’s already a crew assembled, I’m just going along for backup. Guess there might be some Voodoo involved too. They wanted someone with some old knowings to have a look before they rush in. That’s why they called me.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Doubt it. It’s in Florida, Everglades stuff. The hunters are locals. I’m heading out tonight is the thing. So, unless it’s an emergency, you think you and Sam could give me a couple days before you head up here?”

Now his father’s hand was just a loose collar around Adam’s neck. John hummed into the phone, his voice less than happy.

“Well, Bobby… See, thing is we’re looking for something important that’s gone missing. Sam's been looking for the key to help us find it like crazy. It’s vital to a case and a lot of folks’ security. So, it  _ is _ kind of an emergency. Time is of the essence and all. You know how it goes. 

“You mind if we go ahead and come up? We’ve been there before when you’ve been away with no issues. Unless something has changed your end?”

The man on the other side of the call hesitated. When he answered, his heartiness was forced. Even as muffled as it was, Adam heard it. 

“Nope, nothing’s changed here, Winchester. Sure, come on up. You know you and Sam are always welcome. I’ll let Pastor Jim know. He was gonna be stopping by to check on the place. Look in on my mutt.”

“Excellent, Bobby. I really appreciate it. Sam and I will be heading out there first thing tomorrow.”

There were a few more comments made, but Adam had zoned out, lost in anticipation of John locking him up again and leaving him for days. 

It should have been a relief to be away from his captors, but the way he’d been left this last time, chained in a dark room with barely enough food and water and only a bucket for his waste…

He didn’t realize the call was over until his father’s hand left his throat completely and pressed instead between his shoulder blades. John pushed him off his lap and stood up as Adam tumbled to the floor.

“SAM!”

The shout echoed throughout the bunker. In less than a minute Sam was at the library door peering in. The pillow creases on his cheek and the mussed state of his overlong hair showed he must have been sleeping.

“What?” Sam was clearly unhappy at having been awakened. His frown deepened seeing Adam, naked on the floor at his father’s feet.

“Wipe that sad-sack expression off your face, boy.” John grinned, but it wasn’t a nice one. It was hard and angry. “Bobby knows where Dean is.”

This woke Sam up in a hurry. “What!?” 

“I’ve known Bobby a long time. Bastard was cagey. Trying to put off us coming there.” John shook his head, his dark eyes glowed with a fevered conviction. “Either he’s got Dean there, or he knows where she is and is going to get her. I just know it.”

For the first time since they’d lost their bitch, Sam’s expression brightened.

“Well? What the hell are you waiting for, boy? Go get your gear packed. We got a bitch to fetch.”

“Yessir!” Sam disappeared from the door in an instant complying with his father’s orders with a rarely seen speed.

John chuckled at Sam’s enthusiasm. Then his face became serious once again. “Hope Bobby’s not gonna fight us about getting Dean back. That would truly be a shame… Hate to have to lose someone who’s been such a good friend all these years...” He shook his head before turning his attention back to his other child.

Adam stared up at him a moment before slowly raising his hands, wrists pressed together like they were bound already.

“You gonna put me away again, Daddy?” 

The way his soon to be baby girl was offering herself made John smile. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing...” He thought about it. “You did good when your daddy was on the phone, Addy. You think you can keep up that good girl behavior?”

“Yessir.” Adam would say anything if it meant he got to go. Outside the bunker his chance to escape was infinitely higher.

“Tell you what, Baby… I’ll bring you along, but the first time you act out, there’s no being my little girl. You’ll be bitched. And not just bitched, but I’ll nip off your little sack whenever we are and I’ll give you to Sammy, whether we find Dean or not. Got it?”

The way Adam’s face paled showed he knew just what this promise meant. “Yes, Daddy.” He crawled over and wrapped his skinny arms tight around John’s legs and pressed his face into John’s jeans.

John reached down and ruffled Adam’s blond head. “There’ll be time for you to thank me later. Now be a good girl and go throw a couple things in a bag. I know you don’t have much but make sure you pack whatever you’ve got that’s pretty. I’ll get you more things later but right now we’ve got to get on the road.”

* * *

It had been just after midnight when Bobby had called John from the Sioux Falls airport. Less than an hour later he’d been on a plane, on a red eye to Denver. And after a layover he’d entered this cigar plane headed to Colorado’s Moffat County regional airport.

Bobby peered out the plane window, the seats in this rig were window and aisle both, it was so small. His stomach clenched and even though the ground rolling below them looked nothing like Nam, he had difficulty keeping his memories at bay. 

He’d had enough planes during his deployment to last him a lifetime and as soon as he’d touched down on American soil after his tour was over, he’d made a vow never to fly again. And he’d kept that vow until now.

But if there was one thing that he’d break his word for, it was John’s boys.

When Dean hadn’t called by their designated cutoff, he’d immediately called the number the boy had texted him from. The call was picked up right away by a fella who sounded like he’d been gargling gravel.

Bobby wasn’t happy at all when Mr. Deep Voice had told him Dean had suffered some sort of set back and couldn’t come to the phone. He was fit to unleash a flood of curses and about to threaten to pull the guy’s guts out over their connection when the man on the other end, Castiel… he offered, told him if he had an internet connection he could see Dean for himself.

Looking up at the blinking “fasten seatbelt” sign signaling their descent, Bobby’s previous thoughts of war and wounded were quickly replaced by the images of Dean he’d seen last night and for a moment he couldn’t decide which remembering was worse. 

When their skype session had started, him on his laptop, Castiel on an ipad, Castiel had introduced himself and some lug looking fellow named Benny.

When they told him they wouldn’t go into detail  about what had happened to Dean with him online it infuriated him immensely. Though not nearly as much as what they had told him: that Dean had been kidnapped and held against his will. And that he'd apparently finally escaped his captors by crawling into Castiel’s trailer but not before, he’d been assaulted and tortured.

Bobby hadn’t wanted to believe what they were saying. But then Castiel had taken the ipad into a bedroom and had showed him Dean, deep asleep, sedated. 

He was still having a hard time reconciling the boy he saw in the bed with the Dean Winchester he’d last seen.

The Dean he’d known was robust and hearty. Moody at times, but full of spit and vinegar mostly (when his old man wasn’t around or making him play soldier). The boy curled up in the bed looked both far younger and older at the same time than his Dean. Smaller too for sure.

Pale and thin with his bandaged hands and scarred nose, for a few seconds Bobby had tried to convince himself there had been a mistake, that while close it wasn’t Dean he was seeing. But deep in his gut, he’d known the truth.

Sighing, Bobby stared out the widow as the plane began to drop. It looked clear but cold outside, patches of frost paling the sagelands quickly rising up to meet them. He had a hard time sitting still once the wheels made contact with the tarmac, anxious to be out of this tin can and moving.

Since there were no overhead bins in the cigar, outside the plane he picked up his carry on from the cart as soon as the handlers wheeled it over. Inside the terminal he ducked into the bathroom and behind the closed doors of the stall checked his bag. All his potions and essences were safe in their regulation airtravel sized bottles. The couple books he’d brought too. 

Now the only thing he was missing was some weaponry. That was another reason he hated flying: there was no way he could manage to sneak a gun on board, not even a blade either with all the fuss they made at airport security these days. And without any of this he felt more than naked.

Once sure everything he had was still intact, Bobby took advantage of the facilities before exiting the lavatory. He glanced down at his watch. It was just after eight-thirty in the morning. John and Sam should have arrived at his place a few hours ago if they’d hit the road right after their last call.

His mind kept returning back to Dean’s “darkside” comment about his father and brother. It had left Bobby super uneasy. 

It had been hard for him not to tell John Dean had called, but as loyal a Dean had always been to his family he knew the boy wouldn’t have made that kind of claim lightly.

It concerned Bobby too, knowing John and Sam were gonna be at his place without him there now. But he took some comfort in knowing that as warded as his property was, if there was something supernatural going on, there was no way either Winchester would be able to make it into the yard.

There were so many things about the situation that didn’t sit well with him about this whole mess. Not Castiel’s story about how he found Dean, or the man’s refusal to give him a decent explanation as to why the boy hadn’t been taken to a hospital and the authorities called. 

But the room Dean had been sleeping in looked clean and well cared for and outside his visible injuries, so had Dean. What had really made Bobby decide to give Castiel a chance, however, was a moment towards the end of their conversation when Castiel had passed the i-pad over to Benny to hold while he sat on the edge of the bed next to Dean.

The man had pulled the covers up around Dean’s shoulders and then brushed the boy’s overlong bangs away. It was such a tiny gesture, as tender as it was unconscious, but seeing that, the knot in Bobby’s belly had eased just a bit.

Stepping out of the bathroom now though, the knot was back tenfold and it had brought an army of its brothers with it. Scanning the airport’s reception area when he reached it, it only took Bobby a couple seconds before a fox face fellow approached him.

“You Bobby Singer?”

“I might be. Depends on who you are.”

“Name’s Gabriel. I’m Castiel’s brother.”

Bobby frowned at this and the lack of last name. “I thought that fella, Benny, I talked to was gonna meet me.”

Gabriel replied with an apologetic grin and a shrug. “Lambing season’s started early and they had new ranch hands show up two days before they were expected, so Benny couldn’t get away. Castiel either.

“You check a bag?” 

When Bobby shook his head in the negative Gabriel continued. “I’m not much of a lamb nanny or a ranch hand nanny either, so I got picked to be your welcome wagon.”

Bobby walked alongside Gabriel as they exited the airport. “How’s Dean?”

The smirky grin fell from Gabriel’s face immediately. “He’s stable, you could say. But I’m sure he’s been better.”

Bobby split from Gabriel and walked over to what may well have been Moffatt county’s only taxi idling at the curb.

“What are you?..” Gabriel’s face had gone from concerned to confused in an instant. “My rig’s over there” He pointed to the short term parking.

“Best you get in it and follow me then. 'Cause I have a couple errands to run first.” Bobby gruffed. After he clambered into the taxi and shut the door, he waited until Gabriel realized he was serious and made a dash for his car before giving the cowboy hatted cabby his driving instructions.

* * *

 

Bobby had been talking to the proprietor of the pawn shop for about ten minutes when Gabriel joined him at the counter. The younger man stared at the shotgun, rifle, and the two long-bladed hunting knives setting atop the glass.

Gabriel's eyes shifted from the weapons to follow the pawn shop’s owner, who ducked into his back room for a moment to gather the two boxes of ammo Bobby had asked for.

“You preparing to meet armageddon or a sick kid?” He said, half joking as he leaned against the counter.

“You tell me, Gabriel.” Bobby pulled out a fake credit card and offered this to the owner as he surveyed his purchases. “I don’t know you. Don’t know Castiel or Benny either. And you have someone who's significant to me.

“Forgive an old veteran for being paranoid, but I’ve seen enough in war and life I like to be prepared for anything. And now that I'm here, I plan to see Dean and get him to wherever he needs to be, c ome hell or high water. 

"Hope you understand my position."

Seeing how Gabriel remained calm when he said this, offering not much more than a nod in response, Bobby offered to lighten the air between them, “besides this is the wild west. Didn’t think it was legal for a fella to go without a gun of some sort out here.”

Gabriel continued to regard him thoughtfully but managed to snort nonetheless. “All points taken.” He watched the shopkeeper hand Bobby his card and receipt and then watched the older man gather up his arsenal. “And I know we just met, Singer, but I think you’re gonna fit in around here just fine.”

Feeling more comfortable now he was adequately armed, only then did Bobby agree to join Gabriel in his vehicle. He was still sort of surprised the fellow hadn’t made more of a fuss, but the younger man had clearly adapted to the situation with little trouble.

As they headed of to the “ranch” where he would finally see Dean, Bobby couldn’t decided if this made him feel better or worse about things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Bobby had a conversation, but not the one I imagine you were expecting/hoping for.
> 
> Please don't kill me. These guys seem determine to tell their story at their own pace. 
> 
> On the plus side... Next chapter Bobby and Dean will be reunited finally.
> 
> Think he's gonna wanna turn those new weapons of his on John and Sam after he finds out what they did to Dean?
> 
> Thanks for reading and as always, I love to hear from you.


End file.
